


Shadows Long Before Me Lie

by though_she_be_but_little



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/though_she_be_but_little/pseuds/though_she_be_but_little
Summary: Before leaving for the Lonely Mountain, Thorin receives a prophecy telling him he will gain a lot on the quest, but die at the end of it. Taking this as a guarantee of their success, he sets off anyway, intending to pass on his restored kingdom to Fili. It doesn't even occur to him that what he will gain might be a burglar rather than a kingdom. If it did, he might not be quite so ready to accept death with open arms.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

Ravens circled the mountain, those valiant guardians and messengers from the days of old. They had always been the first signs of life that one could see from a distance, heralding the bustling city within.

The woods swept up to the foot of the great peak, not the barren wasteland and desolation that now existed, but a verdant mantle covering the land.

His eyes glistened as he looked to the mountain itself. Ah, the mountain. _His_ mountain. _His_ Erebor. Her vast gate guarded by his great stone kin. She was no longer the smoking ruin that encompassed his last memories of her. She was in her prime, standing nobly in the glittering sunshine, her proud peak brushing the lowest clouds. He stood upon the overlook gazing at her. His home, his kingdom. What _should_ have been his kingdom. Now lost and gone. Stolen from under him.

“ _Inùdoy_ ,” said a voice softly beside him.

Thorin had lived so long under near constant threats of danger that his first response was nearly always aggressive defence. He wondered therefore, as he turned to face his new companion, why his instincts were telling him he had no need to reach for his sword. As a matter of fact, he could feel no comforting weight of the blade on his back, yet he realised that this did not panic him. His eyes widened and he fell to one knee, head bowed in respect. The dwarf standing before him needed no introduction. Thorin’s very bones sang out in recognition and gladness at the sight. 

His long auburn hair and beard were intricately braided. He wore no armour, merely a simple tunic, and he carried nothing but a stout blacksmith’s hammer but power radiated off him as heat from a furnace.

“Mahal,” he gasped reverently, “Maker.”

“Rise, my child,” said Mahal gently. “Rise and walk with me.”

“I had not thought you would appear this way,” Thorin ventured to say as he got to his feet.

Mahal hummed slightly in response. “The Valar can appear in many forms,” he said, “this is merely the one I prefer when talking to my children.”

Thorin could not think of what else to say as they walked slowly through the valley of Dale. Mahal did not seem bothered by the silence. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“Tell me, have you found your One?” he asked suddenly.

Taken aback by the unexpected question, Thorin felt rather bewildered. This couldn’t be what Mahal wanted to talk to him about. He had not come from Valinor to discuss Thorin’s heart. “My One?” he checked.

“Have you even looked?” Mahal chided.

Thorin repressed a scoff with difficulty. “I hardly think this is a topic worthy of your notice,” he said pointedly, “but since you ask, with all the people that are relying on me, I have had little time.”

Mahal scoffed slightly into his beard.

Thorin felt suddenly defensive. “I have already split myself between my people and my family, and you would have me split myself again for a single being? Great Mahal, there is only so much of myself I can spare.”

It may have been only his imagination, but he thought the maker looked almost _hurt_ by this dismissal of his great gift to the dwarrows. Thorin started to stumble out an apology, but Mahal brushed it aside.

“You are not the first to feel this way and you will not be the last. But you view it merely as a sacrifice. Why do you think I caused you to have a One?”

Thorin felt suddenly that he was back in his school room being scolded.

“I don’t know, sir,” he said automatically.

Mahal burst out laughing. “Calm down, lad,” he boomed. “By the Valar, anyone would think I were about to thrash you for that answer. Not to worry, I will provide you with an alternative one. Now, I carved you from stone. Like stone, you are set in your ways and difficult to move. Your One is the other half of you. The one who will bear the stone’s weight with you. Is that not worth having?”

“From what I understood, it is a connection one either has or hasn’t. With all due respect, Lord Mahal, I don’t believe I have much choice in the matter,” Thorin pointed out.

“No, but some might choose to turn away from my gift. To keep it private or to ignore it and let it stay dormant.”

Thorin frowned. “I did not think we could ignore the pull of the One?”

“You can’t, once you feel it,” Mahal agreed. “But I would not create you entirely without choice. Do you not know of all this? Have you not asked?”

Thorin flushed. “It is a private matter.” His voice, to his own ears, sounded stilted and strangely formal. “It has felt intrusive to ask.”

“Ah. Then I will tell you. Imagine a gem encased in rock. The most beautiful, wondrous gem you’ve ever seen.”

“Like the Arkenstone?”

Mahal hesitated. “Aye, I suppose that will do. For some, one good tap with a chisel and the gem is free - that is meeting your One. One look and you know. For others, the gem must be carefully dug out of the rock, the layers covering it must be scraped back until it can no longer be hidden - that is years of companionship before the realisation that your One could never have been anyone else. But once you have the gem, you cannot merely throw it away. It is too precious. You will keep it forever and be buried with it. That doesn’t mean, however, that you must keep it on display for all to see. Some prefer to only share it between themselves. Do you understand better now?”

“I understand what you are telling me, my lord, but not why this is relevant.”

Mahal snorted. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d far rather close that off completely than accept it, wouldn’t you?”

Thorin eyed him warily. “I’d rather focus on more important matters, if that’s what you are implying.”

“More important than your own heart?”

“Vastly so.”

“Your One may not agree with that assessment.”

“If my One is indeed half myself and half my soul then they would agree with me that my people must come before anything else.”

“That’s not quite how that works,” Mahal muttered, but let the matter drop.

They continued walking in silence for some minutes, the rich valley passing around them.

“Maker,” Thorin said at last, when the questions thundering around his brain threatened to overwhelm him, “this is a dream, is it not?”

“I think you know it is,” Mahal told him.

“Then why do you show me this?” Thorin burst out, waving a hand towards his home. His forever lost home. “Why torment me with reminders of our suffering? Our loss?”

Mahal was silent for a long moment. “You view this as a forgotten dream,” he said at last. “As something to be mourned, longed for, and never regained.”

It was not a question but Thorin answered anyway. “Our home was forsaken long ago.”

“Then why do you quest for it?”

Thorin looked at him, emotion tying his tongue.

“You know why,” he said thickly. “My - my people. They suffer. They starve. They have lost everything. How could I not try, if it would help them? If it would just bring them hope…”

“But it is not just them who has lost everything, is it?”

Thorin glanced sharply at him, but his maker was looking towards Dale. Thorin could almost see the smoking ruins that had been his last view of that fair city.

“No.” There was no point in hiding anything from his maker, as much as he hated to admit to his weakness. “No, my lord, it was not just them.”

“What did you lose, Thorin?” Mahal asked, “Could you stand to lose a little more?” 

Thorin tried to hold his tongue, but it seemed all of his carefully constructed barriers fell apart before his maker. “We were the greatest kingdom of our people,” he burst out, pain filling his heart, “Our joy in our creations, the skill of our work, our great wealth… I was _proud_ to be the prince, the heir of such a kingdom. Now, I am called my people’s king and we have never been brought so low. I am a blacksmith, forced to watch them suffer and sink into abject poverty, reliant on the whims and good wishes of others and unable to help them. Barely able to save my family from suffering, let alone all of the people I am responsible for. I have lost my father and my grandfather. I have lost my kingdom. I have lost my home. I have lost my sister’s husband. I have lost the trust of my people and I have lost my pride. Tell me, O my maker, what more can I lose by setting out on this quest?”

“Careful, my proud son,” said Mahal seriously, stopping to look Thorin in the eye, “there is always more to lose. For what you seek, a price must be paid.”

“And have we not already paid it?” roared Thorin suddenly, the burden of his humiliation before his maker too much to bear. “Have we not given enough?”

“You have given much, Thorin,” Mahal’s voice was kind, but Thorin imagined he could hear a reproach behind the words. “Too much for a lesser dwarf. But you are from the line of Durin, and you must bear a little more loss. A little more pain. That is why I showed you this,” he gestured at the thriving landscape around them, now no more than a dream, “to remind you of the reason why you are on this quest. To remind you of what you hope to regain for your people. Tell me, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the mountain, what would you give to restore this to your people?”

Thorin looked around him and thought he heard those old whispers of the mountain, the sound of hammers ringing in the deep and laughter filling those vast halls.

“Anything,” he whispered, “I would give anything. I would give my life to see my people restored to their home.”

Mahal gave a great, sad sigh. “And in your pain, dear one, you have found the truth of the matter.”

Thorin blinked at him. “My lord?”

“Hear me, Thorin Oakenshield,” Mahal spoke in ringing tones. “You will gain more than you ever believed to be possible on your quest and lose more than you thought yourself capable. Three of the company will die before the King Under the Mountain shall claim the Arkenstone for eternity. Friends shall desert you, enemies aid you, and betrayal shall come from the dearest of all. That is my prophecy to you. Now tell me, will you still attempt this quest?”

“Three shall die?” Thorin repeated hoarsely. “Who?”

“That I cannot say.”

“Meaning you will not say,” Thorin corrected in a hard voice, glaring at his maker.

Mahal shrugged. “That too,” he conceded. “It is unwise to know too much of the future for certain.”

“Yet you tell me this much,” Thorin snapped, “You tell me enough to make me fearful but not enough to know the price of our venture.”

In the back of his mind, he realised he should not be speaking to his maker with such a lack of respect, but Mahal did not seem bothered.

“I do,” he said. “I do tell you just enough to raise your concerns. But would you rather know there was a price to be paid, or walk blindly?”

Thorin turned away and started to pace, thinking furiously. “You will gain more,” he muttered to himself. “The kingdom, the Arkenstone, Erebor, the unity of dwarrows under the mountain. It is more than can be hoped for, and yet is it enough? And lose more too…” He paused in his pacing as a solution came to him. “I will die on this quest, won’t I?”

Mahal did not answer, but Thorin pressed on.

“I will gain more because our quest will succeed, but I will lose more because I will die before I can see my kingdom restored. Fíli will be King Under the Mountain and claim the Arkenstone - ‘for all eternity’ so Erebor will not be lost again.”

Mahal watched him with sad eyes. “Will you still go on this quest, Thorin?” he asked again, ignoring the King’s speculations. “Our time grows short - you must wake early for your journey to meet with your kin from the Iron Hills.”

Thorin thought for a long moment. “Long have I claimed that I would give my life for my people,” he said at last, “How can I turn from them now that I know I will keep my word?”

“Do not put so much faith in prophecy,” Mahal cautioned him. “Your interpretations of its meaning could prove false.”

“You said I’d hit upon the truth when I said sacrifice anything for my people,” Thorin reminded him stubbornly. “I do not fear my fate.”

Mahal let out a long and weary sigh. “I created you to be stubborn,” he muttered quietly, “it is only right that you follow it through to the end. I should have expected this. On your own head be it, my stoneheaded son, and I hope you do not come to regret your decision.”

Thorin awoke in darkness. He wondered for a moment if Mahal’s dire prophecy had come to pass earlier than anticipated before he realised it was still early and dawn had not yet broken the horizon. He expected the dream, as with most dreams, to slip away from his mind like smoke, but he found he could still recall it in perfect detail. He wondered at this for a moment before it occurred to him that this perfect clarity may not last. He scrambled for parchment and a quill and wrote out the prophecy. He paused and read over the words again then, in hesitating letters, added his interpretation of their meaning.

_You will gain more than you ever thought possible - Erebor, Arkenstone_

_Lose more than you thought yourself capable - the same through death_

_Three of the company shall die - myself, ?, ?_

_Before the King Under the Mountain shall claim the Arkenstone for eternity - Erebor never to fall, Fíli to claim stone._

_Friends shall desert you - The company?_

_Enemies aid you - ???_

_Betrayal shall come from the dearest of all -_

He stared at the lines again, remembering Mahal’s warning that all may not be as he supposed. He did not want to add his fears to the last line. His dearest of all would be his nephews, but the mere idea that Fíli and Kíli might betray him was unbearable. Unthinkable.

Well, he thought, he could not learn more without additional information, so there was no sense in contemplating that possibility.

Fíli, though, would become King Under the Mountain. He was young for it but not so different in age from Thorin himself when he had assumed the mantle. The concern was more whether he would gain the maturity necessary for such a role.

As if they had heard his thoughts, he suddenly heard the hushed voices and hurried footsteps that always accompanied his nephews’ mischief.

Sighing, he opened the door and called, “Fíli.” His voice was quiet and calm but his tone brooked no refusal. The whispers stopped abruptly and he smiled grimly to himself.

Fíli’s hangdog look as he emerged from the shadowy corner was almost enough for Thorin to let the matter drop but he steeled himself. No. If the boy was to take his place at the end of the quest, he must be taught how to behave.

He gestured for Fíli to enter and closed the door behind him.

“What have you done?” he asked without preamble.

“Done, Uncle? I don’t know…” the false innocence stumbled to a halt under Thorin’s stern look. “We didn’t mean any harm by it,” Fíli muttered instead, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Fíli, you are my heir. One day-” _and not too far away_ , Thorin thought privately - “you must take my place as King. And your people will need a king they can trust. One they can rely on. Not a dwarfling they cannot take seriously.”

Thorin slightly regretted his harsh tone as his nephew wilted before his eyes.

“Yes, Uncle.”

Thorin reached out and grasped the young dwarf’s shoulder. “You’re a good lad, Fíli,” he said, more kindly. “You’re young, but you’re a good fighter and you’ve got both a good heart and a good head on your shoulders. But if I should die on this quest-” Fíli looked up in alarm and indignation but he held up a hand to stop his nephew’s cries of protest. “It could happen,” he pointed out, _and will happen,_ “and if” _when_ “it does, I need to know I’m leaving my kingdom in the right hands.”

“Uncle, that’s not going to happen,” Fíli said fiercely. “We’re not going to _let_ that happen.”

“You are young,” Thorin repeated fondly. “You don’t realise the danger we will be facing. Someday we must all return to stone. And when my time comes, you must be ready to lead.”

“But that will not be for many years!”

“You cannot know that, _Nidoy_ ,” Thorin said gently. “It may not be.”

“Why are you saying this?” Fíli asked, eyes full of hurt and fear. “Do you- do not trust us to defend you? Do you not think we will succeed in our quest?”

“No, I _know_ we will,” said Thorin forcefully. “But- we must prepare for all eventualities, must we not?”

He nearly told Fíli of the dream and the prophecy that Mahal had given him, but he had already shaken the young dwarf’s confidence too much and he didn’t think he could stand the look of horror and fear that Fíli would give him if he learned that Thorin would be going - almost willingly - to his death.

Fíli nodded and, at a gesture of dismissal from Thorin, turned to go.

“Fíli?” Thorin said suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “Take care of your brother.”

Fíli looked utterly bewildered, “I _always_ take care of him, Thorin,” he said, half confused and half resentful at the implication that he _wouldn’t_.

“I know, but-” Thorin drew a deep breath and steadied himself, “as I say, this quest will be dangerous. Look after him first.”

“But you are-”

“No,” Thorin interrupted harshly. “I have others to protect me. Dwalin will take care of that. You look to yourself and your brother first. Do you understand?”

Fíli clearly didn’t, but agreed anyway before leaving.

Thorin let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and looked down at the prophecy, half buried beneath other bits of parchment on the table.

_You will lose more than you thought yourself capable._

That would _not_ be his sister’s sons. Not while he still drew breath. He tucked the parchment inside his tunic and began to dress. It was time to meet with Dain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin reluctantly recruits a burglar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Most of the dialogue in this chapter has been lifted directly from the film and therefore is not mine.

_ Curse Dain and all his descendents, _ Thorin thought bitterly as he kicked a flower growing in the verge to relieve his temper. It didn’t help. He didn’t expect it to. It had been the better part of a week since he had gone to meet with the representatives of the seven dwarf kingdoms and his temper kept resurging at the memories. Most of the dwarf-lords were dismissive and he had expected that, but if Dain had stood by him perhaps they might have joined…  _ It was no good musing on things that would not be _ , he told himself sternly, but could not prevent the wave of temper that accompanied the memories.

“There’s too much risk,” Dain had told him harshly, “You cannot even guarantee your own safety and you ask me to put my people at risk? My son?”

It was true that young Thorin Stonehelm, Dain’s son, was almost unreasonably excited by the prospect of adventure but then he was of an age with Kíli, perhaps two years younger; it was to be expected. He wouldn’t have taken him though, even if Dain  _ had _ allowed it - Thorin was too young to be involved in a quest for a land that was not his home. Fíli and Kíli were different - this was a journey that would directly affect them. This was their homeland they were seeking. Besides, had he forbidden it, they would have followed anyway. The elder Thorin had said as much to Dain and seen the ice in his eyes thaw in relief. Still, his cousin had not relented, returning again and again to Thorin’s strange acceptance of the dangers on the journey.

“Stay here in Ered Luin,” he’d suggested repeatedly. “What would happen to your people if you should fall?”

It was a valid question, Thorin supposed glumly. It was too much to hope for that Fíli had matured much in the time since he’d been gone. Still, Thorin hoped that some of his words had sunk in. Perhaps if he’d taken Fíli with him he might have been able to reinforce them.  _ And _ , he thought,  _ I might have had company for the journey on and they might have better luck at finding this blasted burglar’s house! _

He passed a charming watermill for the third time and let out a loud oath in Khuzdul.

“Oh, I say!” gasped a large halfling, tumbling from a rocking chair outside his house.

For an alarming moment, Thorin thought that perhaps the halfling might have understood him, but the creature was already prattling on around the large pipe that had never left his mouth.

“Gave me such a start! Didn’t even see you coming and, well, that’s a surprise in and of itself, isn’t it? We don’t get many,” he squinted at Thorin through his pipe smoke, “What are you, a dwarf? Now you see, we don’t get many dwarves ‘round these parts. But that’s on a normal day, mark you. Today a whole troop of them have been marching through, if you please, and I says to my Lily, ‘well, how’s about that then! Must be some kind of travelling sale or some such going on’. Are you with the others?” He peered at Thorin suspiciously.

Thorin had just been wondering whether the halfling needed to breathe and just what Gandalf had been thinking in finding one of these noisy creatures to be their burglar. Not to mention the blow to his pride at being called a travelling salesman.

“Excuse me,” he grunted and pushed past, ignoring the halfling’s question. That didn’t seem to stop him.

“Well, if you be wanting the others, looked like they was all heading up the hill, though what they want with Bilbo Baggins is anybody’s guess. Too respectable a hobbit for all that.”

Thorin felt a reluctant surge of gratitude towards the obnoxious halfling and, indeed, looking up the hill he could see a glowing symbol on a door that only Gandalf could have put there. He turned up the path and headed towards the home of the fourteenth member of the company.

Fourteen. Plus Gandalf on occasion. It was a good number, though he would have preferred more. A larger company would decrease the odds on Fíli and Kíli being among the three to die. That was the main cause of his resentment towards Dain, though he couldn’t very well explain that to his cousin. Still, fourteen didn’t give them bad odds and, though he wouldn’t wish death on any of the company, it must be admitted that some were getting on in years. His heart felt like it had been encased in lead as he thought of Balin. Balin, who had stood by him for so many years, since before Erebor had fallen. Who still acted as chief advisor to the king when there was little actual ruling to be done. Who, it must be admitted, was well past his prime. Was he honestly wishing death on Balin so that his nephews might live? No. That too was unthinkable. Perhaps there was some other way… He found himself cursing Dain again as he trudged up the hill. Though, he supposed, he did have one reason to be grateful to Dain.

The parchment tucked safely in his tunic now read:

_ Friends shall desert you -  _ ~~_ The company? _ ~~ _ Dain, damn him _

At least now he didn’t have to worry about his company leaving. He had considered whether Dain might apply to that final line too, but as fond as he was of his cousin, he couldn’t really be called “The dearest of all”. That was one thing he still had to watch out for, but still, it was almost a relief to be able to cross one thing off the list.

He thought back to the raven Balin had sent when he’d arrived in Ered Luin. Quite apart from the news that Gandalf had found their burglar and instructions on how to get there (as unhelpful as those had been), he’d mentioned some private reservations about the brothers Ori, Dori, and Nori. None of them would back away from a fight, they were agreed upon that, but Ori was so young and inexperienced. Younger even than Fíli and Kíli. If he fell… his brothers would surely protect him but if he did, there was no guarantee that they’d stay with the company. Could the lines of the prophecy apply to more than one event? But no, if he started to think like that, he’d drive himself mad.

He got to the top of the hill just as he heard Kíli starting to sing. At least he was now sure he was in the right place. The rest of the company quickly joined in but focusing on the words, clearly they weren’t getting along terribly well with their burglar. Thorin sighed irritably. He’d have to have some stern words with his nephews. If they were going to travel halfway across Arda with him, they were going to have to show him a modicum of respect, at least. He glanced through the window into what looked like a kitchen and saw the company throwing some crockery around. Then a halfling entered the room.

Immediately, Thorin was consumed by two things. The first was a glowing warmth around his heart, pulling him towards the frustrated hobbit. The second was a wave of horror and dread as he realised what had just happened. No. Absolutely not. That hobbit was the fourteenth member of the company. He was, perhaps, one of the three who would die on the quest. And he was Thorin’s One. The other half of his soul. The One who would complete him. Mahal could not be this cruel. Thorin could not be asked to risk his One’s life.

Well. He would just have to persuade him away from the quest, that was all.

Thorin managed to pull himself together just as the song finished and knocked at the green door.

“Gandalf,” he greeted as the door opened, hoping none of his inner turmoil was showing on his face. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find.” He stripped off his cloak as he circled casually round the hall, talking generally about losing his way. Only a few who knew him exceptionally well - like Dwalin - would realise something was wrong but the others would not notice that he was carefully cataloguing each face, searching for one that was seemingly not there. “I would not have found it at all had it not been for that mark upon the door,” he concluded.

“Mark? What mark?” came a voice and it was at once a total stranger and completely familiar. Like part of his soul had come home to him. Oh Mahal, he couldn’t look or all his plans to ignore this pull would come to dust. Come now, he scolded himself, he was not such a coward. He turned back as the wizard finished explaining the mark to the hobbit and waited to be introduced.

“Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

For the first time, Thorin allowed himself to look over the being Mahal had selected as his One. Bronze locks, sapphire eyes, and a faintly bewildered expression. Any misgivings about talking him out of the quest faded. Bilbo Baggins would not last five minutes on the road and Thorin would not be responsible for his death. He made his tone proud and disdainful.

“So this is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

“Pardon me?” No, he didn’t think so - those limbs were soft and pliable as gold, skin unscarred as a new cut diamond. Still, he plowed on.

“Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?”

“Well I do have some skill at conkers if you must know but I fail to see why that’s relevant.”

“Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”  _ Forgive me, Master Baggins, _ he thought as he walked away, ignoring the stunned look on the hobbit’s face.

Now, Mahal preserve him, he was going to have to tell his company that they were on their own. And once he succeeded in persuading Bilbo to stay home, they would be back to thirteen. Not good odds for any of them.

His nephews led him through to the dining room and brought some soup. The others began filing in around the table.

“Bofur,” Thorin muttered, catching the dwarf’s arm as he went past. Bofur looked at him in confusion but went easily enough to a quiet corner by the window.

“I don’t think our burglar is up to much,” Thorin told him quietly. “Just, have some fun, why don’t you? See what he’s made of?”

He turned away as Bofur nodded and left to find Balin frowning at him.

“What are you doing, laddie?”

He shrugged, not sure he wanted to answer that. Dwalin appeared beside his brother.

“You don’t want the burglar on the quest,” he checked brusquely. Thorin shook his head. “Consider it done.”

“Dwalin!” Thorin stopped him sharply, concerned he might take the injunction too seriously. “Just suggest he would prefer to stay home. Nothing more. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Aye,” agreed Dwalin but looked slightly wary.

Balin eyed him suspiciously but let the matter drop, following him back to the table.

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?” he asked when they were all seated, “Did they all come?”

“Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms.” They were pleased with that. They did not know yet and Thorin would put off their disappointment for as long as he could but it would not be long now before he must break the news. Dwalin was not fooled.

“And what did the dwarves of the Iron Hill say?” he asked shrewdly, “Is Dain with us?”

Thorin sighed heavily, “They will not come. They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.” They did not need to know exactly what Dain said. They did not need to know that he predicted they would die. Telling them the prophecy would be kinder than that, and their morale was low enough without knowing three would be lost.

“You’re going on a quest?” asked a voice tentatively.

Thorin hadn’t even noticed the hobbit slipping in behind Gandalf. He put down his tankard. He did not want to discuss this before Bilbo - let it be enough that he had insulted him without persuading him further. Gandalf seemed to have other ideas.

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light,” the wizard requested. “Far to the East,” he continued, as Bilbo left for a candle, “over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

He laid a map down on the table. That map. His Grandfather’s legacy. Seeing it again sent shivers down Thorin’s spine.

“The Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo read over his shoulder. Thorin shifted uncomfortably at the proximity.

“Aye,” chimed in Gloin, “Oin has read the portents, and the portents say: it is time.”

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain,” agreed Oin, ignoring the disbelieving mutterings from Dori, “as it was foretold. When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

“Uh…what beast?” Bilbo asked from behind him.

“Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the terrible,” said Bofur cheerfully, “chiefest and greatest calamity of our age.” Thorin could wish that he was a little more sombre about it. But then Bofur hadn’t been there when the dragon had attacked. “Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals.”

“Yes, I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo cut him off sharply.

Thorin thought that perhaps he shouldn’t have encouraged Bofur to terrify Bilbo. Hearing Smaug discussed in such casual terms was like a knife to his gut. He sat quietly as Ori brashly threatened to skewer the beast. Brave, without doubt, but foolish. The youth was renewing those concerns that had plagued him on his journey. If he should be lost...

“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us,” Balin commented, “but we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

Thorin shot him a look. Was that really necessary? The table descended into chaos, and Thorin looked to Gandalf as they started claiming he must have killed hundreds of dragons. When it became clear the wizard was not going to defend himself, Thorin took charge.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?” he continued furiously. “Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

“You forget the front gate is sealed,” Balin shut down the cheers that followed his little speech, “There is no way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” said Gandalf, producing a key. A key that he had often seen hung at his father’s belt. The key, the map, what other treasures of his people was the wizard hiding?

“How came you by this?” Thorin managed to choke out.

“It was given to me by your father,” Gandalf told him gently, “by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now.”

He handed it over and Thorin could almost hear his father’s voice once more as he took Thorin on his rounds with the guard. He barely heard the others discussing dwarf doors and hidden passages. Mahal, where was his father? He was not dead. He would not accept that. But how came Gandalf by the key? When had his father handed it over? The one voice that broke through his reverie was that of Bilbo, commenting on burglary expertise.

“And are you?” asked Gloin pointedly.

Thorin looked over his shoulder at Bilbo. He seemed nonplussed by the question.

“Am I what?”

“He said he’s an expert!” Oin cheered.

“Me?” Bilbo began to stutter, “No! No, No, No! I…I’m not a burglar. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”

_ And that was more than likely true _ , Thorin thought privately. Well, that would certainly make leaving him behind easier.

“And I’m afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins,” said Balin, “He’s hardly burglar material.”

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed, “the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

He caught Thorin’s eye and Thorin gave him a look of gratitude. He knew he’d have to explain himself later but having Dwalin supporting him in this would make persuading the others far easier. But Gandalf was not supportive and as conversation broke out once more he rose and filled the room with an intimidating presence.

“Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is! Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet,” he explained himself, and Thorin wished he hadn’t, as there was logic in his words that he couldn’t argue with. “In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of a dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company,” he said sternly to Thorin, “and I have chosen Mr. Baggins.”

This was all true but Thorin could feel a preemptive pain in his heart at the idea of sending his One to meet a dragon.

“There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest,” Gandalf promised. “And he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself.” He looked Thorin in the eye and said softly, “You must trust me on this.”

“Very well,” Thorin gave in reluctantly, “We’ll do it your way.” He ignored Bilbo’s protests and asked Balin to hand over the contract. He could not overtly fight with the wizard before the company. They were, in essence, the two leaders of this quest. To cause discord now would only cause problems later.

“It’s just the usual,” said Balin cheerfully, getting it out, “summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

The hobbit wasn’t taking the contract that Balin was holding out for him so Thorin took it and thrust it at him. He hadn’t yet signed it, and by his distress at the concept of funeral arrangements, there may still be a chance, even with the wizard’s meddling, that he wouldn’t come.

He leant over to speak to Gandalf quietly. “I cannot guarantee his safety,” he reminded him.

“Understood,” said the wizard.

Thorin wanted to shout that he didn’t. If he did, he would not be sending him on this quest. He settled for saying pointedly, “Nor will I be responsible for his fate.”

_ That would persuade the wizard if nothing else would _ , he thought, the reminder that there was a serious risk to this venture. But again Gandalf surprised him by simply saying, “Agreed.”

Thorin hung his head. Gandalf was going to be no use in leaving the hobbit behind. Bilbo was still reading the contract, muttering quietly behind him. Why? Why was Gandalf so determined to bring him along? Bilbo seemed disturbed by the list of potential injuries. He wasn’t the only one. The contract was a standard one for the company but it distressed Thorin more than he had thought possible to consider those things happening to Bilbo.

Bofur happily described the effects of dragon fire and Thorin was torn between letting him continue to frighten the hobbit off the quest and stopping him from upsetting Bilbo more. Bilbo put an end to his internal debate by fainting. Well, that should solve that problem.

Balin pulled him to one side as Gandalf took the hobbit out to recover in his parlour.

“Would you like to tell me what’s going on now?” Balin said sternly.

Thorin looked at his old advisor and considered for a moment telling him everything. “We don’t need him,” he said at last.

Balin scoffed, “Then why did you ask Gandalf to find a fourteenth member? We need a burglar, Mr Baggins said so himself.”

“Nori will do fine,” Thorin insisted.

“Gandalf had an answer to that too,” Balin pointed out. “But that’s not what’s bothering you. Come on, lad. I’ve known you too long for this. You know you can tell me.”

Thorin’s mind darted to the list tucked inside his tunic.  _ Betrayal will come from the dearest of all _ . It wouldn’t be Balin. It couldn’t be. But just the idea made him wary.

“We could have done with a larger company,” he hedged.

Balin’s eyes narrowed. “Agreed,” he said, “but you knew there was a small chance in Dain’s folk joining us, let alone the others.”

Thorin sighed, “I have my reasons. Would you accept that as an answer?”

“No, Thorin, I don’t think so,” Balin said slowly. “You’re our leader. And you’re my King. If something troubles you, I would prefer to help.”

Slowly - very slowly - Thorin drew the list from inside his tunic. He didn’t hand it over though, despite Balin’s curious glance at it.

“Before I went to Ered Luin,” he began, “I had a dream. A vision from Mahal. No,” he said quickly, in response to a look from Balin, “my mind is not afflicted. He gave me a prophecy. A list, if you will, of things that would happen on our journey. I would show you, if you asked it of me, but it is not a pleasant list and I would not burden you needlessly.”

“And this is what concerns you?” Balin checked. “What does it say of our burglar?”

“Nothing directly,” Thorin admitted. “But nothing is direct about this list.”

Balin thought for a moment. “Don’t show it to me,” he said at last. “I don’t wish to know. Just- Thorin, tell me one thing. Does it say anything about you?”

Thorin knew what he was asking. He remembered the days of his grandfather’s dragon sickness as well as Balin did.

“It says- it  _ implies _ ,” he corrected himself, “that I would not see our quest completed.”

There, that was enough. Balin did not need to know that he would die on this journey. And he did not want the panic that would come with his acceptance of that fact.

Balin stared at him, sorrow in his eyes, and he seemed about to reply when Bilbo walked past them.

Balin sighed. “It appears we have lost our burglar,” he said glumly. “Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy makers. Hardly the stuff of legend.”

“There are a few warriors amongst us,” Thorin said with a slight smile.

“Old warriors,” Balin acknowledged.

“I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills,” Thorin told him fiercely, “for when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that.”

Balin’s mind still seemed to be on the list for he said, almost desperately, “You don’t have to do this. You have a choice. You’ve done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor.”

He knew that. But it was not about the gold. And ‘plenty’ was stretching the truth almost to breaking point. They lived, that was all.

“From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me,” he held out the key - the legacy of his fathers. He could not fail them now. “They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me.”

“Then we are with you, laddie,” Balin promised, “We will see it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not planned on getting Balin involved this early, I must admit, but he insisted.
> 
> For now, we are following canon literally to the letter. Later... well, we'll see. The best laid plans of mice and men, and all that.
> 
> I've treated dwarven 'Ones' rather like a soulmate bond. You don't have to follow it, but it makes life rather easier if you do. Not quite canonical, but this is fanfiction so we don't have to be. Just for clarification, this is only a bond felt by dwarrows so Bilbo is going to have to find his feelings the hard way. If he's going to, that is.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and my thanks to those very kind people who seem to be liking this story so far and have been leaving Kudos, bookmarks, and comments. Quite honestly, it was more than I expected.
> 
> One last thing - I'm afraid putting out 2 chapters in 2 days is a stroke of luck and quite beyond my normal capabilities. The next one will be up when it is written but we are getting into the testing season of the half term and thus I may be quite preoccupied and unable to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin shares some information and some unsavory hosts try to have them for dinner.

Thorin was almost impressed that Dwalin had waited until they were on the road before cornering him.

“Alright,” he said, riding up beside Thorin. “What’s got your armour in a knot?”

Thorin was about to deny it but Dwalin sent him a look.

“You’ve been off since you arrived in the halfling’s house.”

“Hobbit,” Thorin corrected absently. “They prefer ‘hobbit’.”

Dwalin sent him a look but continued, “And don’t tell me it’s about Dain. You knew he was a stubborn old goat before you left.” Thorin snorted at the rather apt, if insulting, description of his cousin. “And you’ve spoken with Balin. Haven’t seen my brother this riled up about something in years. So, if you can talk to him, you can talk to me.”

Dwalin set his jaw and stared fiercely at the king. Thorin sighed and glanced behind them. Everyone else was engaged in their own conversations - betting, it looked like, though he didn’t know what about.

“What do you want to know?” he hedged.

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, you don’t get out of it that easily. You give me all the answers, particularly the ones I _need_ to know, not just the ones I ask for.”

“What makes you think there’s something you need to know?” countered Thorin.

Dwalin stared at him, a muscle in his cheek working furiously. “The burglar,” he said at last.

He couldn’t have taken Thorin more by surprise if he’d tried, but Dwalin took no notice of this and went straight on.

“You don’t trust him, is that it? Well, we’ve left him behind now, so-”

“Wait!” came a sharp voice from behind them.

Thorin turned to see Bilbo hurrying up to them, waving the contract like a white flag.

 _No_. What was he doing here? Hadn’t they warned him off enough? What in Mahal’s name was he thinking?

“How did he get the-” he muttered distractedly.

“Balin,” growled Dwalin, his brother’s name both explanation and curse.

“And Gandalf,” agreed Thorin, his mouth dry.

Dwalin looked at him cautiously. “Are you alright?”

Thorin didn’t answer.

“I signed it!” Bilbo announced, almost proudly, and handed the contract to Balin, who looked at it closely.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he said. “Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Get him a pony,” Thorin snarled, seeing no other solution, and turned away from the sounds of Bilbo’s protests. He kicked his own pony into motion before the hobbit had quite finished.

“Thorin?” Dwalin asked softly, after a few minutes of riding in silence.

Thorin’s stone mask cracked just for an instant and he closed his eyes in pain before pulling himself together.

“Ah,” said Dwalin, and there was a world of understanding in that one syllable. “When did you know?”

“I looked through the window,” Thorin gritted out. “I saw him. I knew.”

“That’s why you didn’t want him to come,” reasoned Dwalin. “You don’t think he’ll make it.”

“You’ve seen him, Dwalin,” muttered Thorin hopelessly. “You said it yourself - he’s not made for this journey.”

Almost on cue, he heard “Stop! Stop! We have to turn around!” coming from the small figure beside Gandalf.

“I’ve forgotten my handkerchief,” the hobbit explained to the wizard.

Thorin exchanged a look with Dwalin and called, “Move on.”

“So, that’s it?” Dwalin continued as they started off again. “He’s your One so you don’t want to risk him?”

Thorin nodded sharply, eyes on the road ahead.

“No,” Dwalin said slowly. Thorin didn’t turn to look at him, but he could feel the other dwarf’s piercing gaze on his face. “There’s something else. Balin doesn’t know about the hobbit, does he? Or he wouldn’t be so careless with his life, leaving the contract behind and all.”

Thorin gritted his teeth and refused to answer.

“There’s something that has you and my brother tangled up in knots. What is it?”

Again, he would not answer this.

Dwalin grunted. “I’ll ride at the back,” he promised. “Watch your One. Make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. And when you decide to trust me again, you let me know.”

He rode away to the back of the line. Thorin barely had time to feel guilty before Dwalin was replaced by his brother.

“What was that about?” Balin asked.

Thorin hesitated. “I don’t know whether to tell him.”

“About your list?”

He nodded.

“Don’t,” Balin advised.

Thorin glanced at him in surprise.

“Look,” said Balin reasonably, “do you even know for sure that this was a vision from Mahal and not just a regular dream?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Thorin told him firmly. “You don’t understand, it didn’t _feel_ like a dream. And what Mahal told me… I wouldn’t have come up with _that_.”

“Either way,” Balin continued. “You said this quest would be for nought, so-”

“I never said that,” objected Thorin.

Balin frowned. “You told me that you would not see-” His eyes widened and he turned sharply to look at Thorin.

Thorin focused on the road ahead of him. He knew Balin would figure out what he had meant, he just didn’t think it would be this soon.

“Thorin,” Balin’s tone could have sliced through armour and Thorin barely concealed a wince. “What did the prophecy say?”

“You didn’t want to read it,” Thorin reminded him.

Balin took a deep breath. “I don’t,” he said, though he sounded less sure now, “but if what I think you’re implying… Well first off, lad, you know we’re not going to let that happen. But also, don’t tell Dwalin. If he thinks he’s going to fail in his duty-”

“He’s not going to _fail-_ ” snapped Thorin, but was silenced at a look from Balin.

“You are his king. He is your guard. You are also his friend. If he thinks he’s going to fail, he will become reckless. And we will lose our best warrior. Don’t tell him,” Balin’s voice was almost a plea by the time he’d finished.

Thorin could do nothing but nod in agreement. He was itching to get the list out again, to check it against current developments, but he couldn’t very well write on a horse. Besides, there were too many people around him.

It was, in fact, another two days before he had enough time to peruse the list in private.

They had camped for the night on a ledge on the side of a cliff. Very difficult to sneak up on. His conscience twinged a bit at the thought that Dwalin probably approved of his choice for a campsite. Most of the company was asleep, with only a few not yet resting and Kíli on watch.

Thorin was a little ashamed to admit that he had been avoiding Dwalin since their conversation, but told himself firmly that he couldn’t dwell on that. He had borrowed a pen and ink from Ori and had been adjusting the list.

_You will gain more than you ever thought possible - Erebor, Arkenstone, One?_

_Lose more than you thought yourself capable - the same through death, One?_

_Three of the company shall die - myself, ?, ?, BB?_

_Before the King Under the Mountain shall claim the Arkenstone for eternity - Erebor never to fall, Fíli to claim stone._

_Friends shall desert you -_ ~~_The company?_~~ _Dain, damn him_

 _Enemies aid you - ???_ ~~ _hobbits?_~~ ~~_wizards?_~~

_Betrayal shall come from the dearest of all -_

He’d tried to fit in a couple of options for enemies but, although that hobbit in the Shire _had_ told him where to go and thus aided him and _had_ been irritating, he could hardly be considered an enemy. The same could be said of Gandalf - aggravating at times, yes, but not an enemy. Bilbo he had added under “three shall die”, as much as the idea froze his blood, because he genuinely wasn’t sure how the hobbit would make it to the end of the quest. He still had not added anything to the betrayal line. Many occurred to him as possibilities - Fíli, Kíli, Balin, Dwalin - but he could not see how any of them would betray him. They were all of them loyal to a fault.

Hearing a slight noise, he hurriedly slipped the paper back into his tunic. But as he looked up, he realised there was no need to worry; it was only Bilbo sneaking past to talk to his pony. He was a kind-hearted creature. And such creatures do not survive very long in the wild places of the world. He watched through hooded eyes as the hobbit started at a noise in the night.

“Orcs,” Kíli told Bilbo.

Thorin sat forward in alarm. Had the boys heard something he had not?

“There’ll be dozens of them out there,” Fíli continued and Thorin relaxed his guard with an irritated huff. They were just trying to scare the hobbit, describing scenes of carnage after a raid.

“You think that’s funny?” he asked them. “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?”

He would give anything to spare them that experience, from knowing what it felt like to see their friends and family torn down by the foul creatures but they had to realise. They had to be on their guard.

“We didn’t mean anything by it,” Kíli muttered mulishly.

“No, you didn’t,” snarled Thorin. “You know nothing of the world.”

They didn’t know what it was like to be in a battle with orcs. They didn’t know what it felt like to see your kin slaughtered. He barely listened as Balin began to recount the Battle of Azanulbizar. He needed no reminder of the death of his grandfather. The loss of his father. Perhaps that was why his reign had been so poor. His coming to the throne had taken so much blood it was now cursed. It was a foolish thought, he knew. There was nothing to blame for their ill luck but himself. But this quest - and his life - would be the price to be paid to restore his people.

Balin’s voice cut through his dark musings.

“And I thought to myself then: there is one whom I could follow. There is one I could call King.”

He turned back, needing to acknowledge, in some small way, just how much Balin’s words had meant to him but found himself facing the whole company on their feet. His heart caught in his throat as he saw Dwalin amongst them. He had never once doubted Dwalin’s loyalty but he took the gesture for what it was: an apology.

 _Soon_ , he told himself, _I’ll tell him soon. No matter what Balin says._

“And the pale orc?” he heard Bilbo ask timidly, “What happened to him?”

“He slunk back into the hole whence he came,” he growled. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

After all, the Valar could not be so cruel as to take his family from him in that battle but leave him with his greatest enemy.

He did not have the chance to talk to Dwalin in private until they were back on the road and riding through a torrential downpour.

“I don’t know why you’re keeping secrets,” Dwalin began in the stilted, awkward voice he reserved for apologies, “but that’s your business. And I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“No,” said Thorin gently, “no, you were right to do so. And I do trust you, Dwalin. You have been my friend through many long years. This is not something I keep from you lightly but… it is complicated. Delicate. I do not know how to broach it.”

“Yet you told Balin.”

“And Balin in turn asked me to keep it from you for fear it would injure you,” Thorin countered. “And he doesn’t know the whole matter.”

Dwalin snorted and Thorin thought he heard the words “meddling old fool” before they both fell silent.

“This is a serious matter?” Dwalin asked after a long pause.

“Yes.”

“And you agree with Balin?”

“That it may hurt you? Yes. That you should not be told? I don’t know.”

“But this is weighing heavily on you?”

Thorin thought for a moment. “In some respects,” he qualified. “In others it seems remarkably simple.”

Dwalin grunted. “Well, I won’t press you. But when you’re ready, I want to hear about it.”

Thorin felt a surge of affection. “You’re a good friend, Dwalin.”

“Dawn well should be,” Dwalin said with a grim smile. “Not like you got a whole lot of them outside the company.”

He dodged the punch Thorin aimed at his arm with a grin and they rode on in companionable silence.

The rain lasted for another three days, and by the end tempers were running very short. All members of the company were thoroughly soaked, even the ones who had remembered their oilskins.

“Well,” said Bofur, trying to put a good spin on it, “at least we won’t have to search for a river anytime soon after a bath like that.”

He was given cleaning duty as punishment.

That evening they stopped by a ruined hut near the woods.

Thorin gave orders to make camp, instructing Fíli and Kíli to stay with the ponies.

“I think it would be wiser to move on,” called Gandalf, inspecting the ruined hut. “We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Thorin came over to talk to him away from the others. No need to make them uncomfortable by openly arguing with Gandalf.

“I’ve told you already,” he said through gritted teeth, “I will not go near that place.”

“Why not?” Gandalf demanded. “The Elves could help us, we could get food, rest, advice.”

“I do not need their advice,” snapped Thorin, coming to a halt by a broken down chimney. This was probably far enough away that the others would not hear their conversation.

“We have a map that we cannot read,” Gandalf pointed out. “Lord Elrond could help us.”

Elves. They would never help unless there was something in it for them. Thorin’s old anger was bubbling like Gandalf had lit the furnace under it.

“Help?” he repeated, his anger choking his throat. “A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing! You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father.”

“You are neither of them,” Gandalf said gently, but he became angry when Thorin turned away. “I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past.”

“I did not know they were yours to keep,” Thorin snarled in response.

He watched the wizard storm away without regret. He would not ask the elves for help when they had betrayed the dwarves so many times. The elves had watched Erebor fall, had watched Moria fall - a city they had helped create! They had done nothing. They had watched his people starve and done nothing.

Balin and Dwalin came to find him after they made camp and Bombur was cooking dinner.

“He wants us to go to the elves,” Thorin snarled at them before they could ask.

“Why?” demanded Dwalin, angry on Thorin’s behalf, “What do we need from them?”

“We need nothing from them,” Thorin agreed angrily.

“What does Gandalf _think_ we need from them?” Balin asked, a little too reasonably in Thorin’s mind.

“Help reading the map,” he admitted. “But we don’t need it and they’d just extract a price. Maybe Bifur-”

“I already tried that,” said Balin heavily. “He says he can’t read it. None of us can.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to go to the stinking elves,” growled Dwalin.

Balin sighed heavily, then shot Thorin a narrow look.

Thorin thought he knew what that look meant but no, that was not something he was prepared to consider.

“Dwalin,” Balin began, “perhaps you could get us all some food?”

“Ah, just tell me you want to talk about your secret, why don’t you,” grumbled Dwalin. “I’m not a damn fool.” He left to get some food from Bombur anyway.

“No, Balin,” Thorin told him repressively.

Balin raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” snapped Thorin. “There is nothing on the list about the blasted elves.”

“You said the list wasn’t always clear,” Balin pointed out persistently.

“I will not go to see them,” said Thorin stubbornly. “If they had helped even _once_ , how many might we have saved? At Azanulbizar alone-”

For the first time in a very long while, Balin’s eyes flashed with something like anger.

“Careful, Thorin,” he warned, “You’re not the only one who lost people at Azanulbizar. But I manage to blame my losses on those who took them from me. Not on those who were not there.”

Thorin bowed his head in apology. “The lines on the list do not apply to them,” he said finally, “and I would not go that way if I had any other choice.”

Dwalin came back with three bowls of stew and they sat together on the edge of the camp to eat as it started to get dark.

Thorin watched Bilbo fretting about Gandalf’s whereabouts as night closed in around them. Dwalin noticed his preoccupation.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Thorin’s shoulder, “what’re you going to do about him?”

Balin looked up in surprise. “Bilbo? What’s wrong with him?”

Dwalin looked between the two of them.

“You haven’t told him yet?” he asked Thorin incredulously.

Thorin glowered at the fire. “I had preferred to keep the matter private,” he gritted out.

“You’d keep your own death private,” Dwalin grumbled.

Thorin hoped to Mahal that Dwalin didn’t catch the look Balin was giving him.

“What’s going on?” asked Balin sternly.

Thorin gritted his teeth. “It appears our burglar is my One,” he admitted.

Balin’s mouth fell open. “Is that why- Oh Mahal, Thorin, I’m sorry.”

Thorin shrugged. “It cannot be helped now. Unless he turns back - and I hope he does.”

“You going to tell him?” Dwalin asked brusquely.

Thorin snorted. “Well, that would be one way to get him to turn back. I’m quite certain that is the last thing he wants to hear from me.”

“Perhaps if you talked to him-”

“Balin,” Thorin interrupted sharply. “This is not a state of affairs that I am interested in pursuing.”

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by Fíli bursting into their camp. He was out of breath, red faced, and gasping for air. Thorin heard him choke out the words “Bilbo” and “trolls” and felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He was on his feet in an instant, reaching for his sword.

Fíli led them to a clearing where three trolls were dangling their hobbit by his ankles.

Thorin nearly swore as he saw Kíli burst out and attack the trolls. They were too far away to help.

“Drop him!” he heard Kíli shout.

They pulled up short just before the clearing. If they attacked now, Bilbo would still be in danger and Thorin couldn’t put him at any more risk.

“I said drop him,” Kíli repeated fiercely.

The troll’s response was to throw Bilbo at his nephew and Thorin charged. He couldn’t stop to see if they were alright, the focus was just on getting the trolls away from the two. The others charged with him, hacking and slashing at whatever body parts they could reach. He saw Kíli fighting with Gloin against one of the trolls but Bilbo seemed to have disappeared.

It looked like things were going quite well for them until Thorin glanced up and froze in horror.

“Put your arms down,” growled one of the two trolls holding Bilbo, “or we’ll rip his off.”

“Bilbo!” Kíli shouted and tried to charge forward, but Thorin caught him.

“No!” If they attacked again, Bilbo would be killed. He couldn’t risk it.

Bilbo looked down at him, absolutely terrified.

Thorin didn’t want to lay down his arms. He could not be certain that the trolls would let Bilbo go if he did. He’d rather kill them and be done with it. But they wouldn’t be able to get to the trolls before the hobbit lost his limbs.

There was nothing else to do. He drove his sword deep into the grass in front of him. He knew the others would follow suit but he could barely hear the noise around him over the rushing in his ears. The trolls kept hold of Bilbo until they had all been thrown into sacks or tied to the spit over the fire. Thorin scarcely noticed being stuffed unceremoniously into his own sack, his eyes on Bilbo the whole time. Was it his imagination, or did the hobbit’s grimace show more pain than fear now?

He did not relax until the hobbit was in the sacks beside them. He almost wished he could check- but no. He’d sworn to keep the hobbit at arms length and so he would. This incident had proved that to be the right course of action. The burglar was vulnerable enough alone, he didn’t need any friendships or attachments that would drive him into further danger. Besides, there were more pressing matters - like ensuring half his company weren’t roasted alive. But the blasted sack was too tight and even if he could reach his knife…

 _Three of the company will die_...

The words echoed in his mind. No! No, it would not be against some trolls so soon into their journey.

When the hobbit started offering advice on how to cook them, he could barely breathe. He heard a voice yelling “traitor!” and realised it was him.

_Betrayal will come…_

He shook his head violently. The burglar would not betray them, not to some trolls. He forced himself to stop. To think. Claiming they all had parasites? What was he doing? Stalling for time? Of course!

He kicked Kíli hard and his nephew caught on. He just hoped to Mahal that the hobbit had a plan here.

“The dawn will take you all!” Gandalf cried, and split the rock with his staff.

The burglar’s plan was suddenly so very apparent as the trolls turned to stone, but Thorin couldn’t help thinking that it was foolhardy in the extreme. If the trolls had turned on him earlier when he had been waiting for the dawn… That settled it. The hobbit needed to go back before they ran into any further danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be seriously impressed if anyone manages to spot the deviation from canon here...
> 
> Again, all text you recognise was not written by me as I, tragically, did not have anything to do with the film of The Hobbit.
> 
> I'm afraid I'm skipping some of the film here and there - any time Thorin's not directly involved in a conversation, for instance. Couple of reasons: first of all, I kinda feel he's going to be a little too busy (brooding) to be interested in eavesdropping much, and secondly I find it a little boring just to be rehashing conversations we already know take place with no additions. That's why so much of it is introspection on Thorin's part, even with sections that he is involved in. Hope you don't find it too stilted because of that. If there is any dialogue that you'd actually like to know Thorin's take on, let me know. The exception being things like Riddles in the Dark. I don't actually know yet if we're going to deviate from canon quite that early - the characters have started fighting me a little - but for now, I'm going to say we're sticking with it and Thorin will remain with the majority of the company, as in the film.
> 
> About Thorin knowing about 'hobbit'/'halfling' terminology: in my own personal headcanon Thorin has encountered hobbits before during his travels but isn't that keen on them, so he chooses to use the slightly more insulting term until he finds one he actually respects and cares about.
> 
> Anyway, that's all from me. Enjoy, folks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treasures and stresses

The sun had fully risen by the time they had all been released from the sacks and the spit. For once, Thorin did not object when Oin loudly insisted on checking everyone for injuries.

The hobbit had had quite a hard fall when the trolls had thrown him into Kíli and Thorin could still see that pained look on his face when they’d threatened to pull his arms off. Given the way he’d been moving afterwards, dislocation was unlikely but a sprain wasn’t inconceivable.

He waited until the burglar had been pronounced “bruised but unharmed” then slipped off before Oin could corner him.

He found Gandalf laughing to himself at the petrified trolls. The wizard  _ had _ to reconsider, now that his burglar’s life had been threatened.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?” he said as he approached the wizard.

“To look ahead,” Gandalf replied evasively.

That was to be expected - the wizard couldn’t give a straight answer if his life depended on it.

“What brought you back?”

“Looking behind,” Gandalf told him with a twinkle in his eye. “Nasty business,” he continued cheerfully. “Still, they all are in one piece.”

“No thanks to your burglar,” Thorin said pointedly.  _ Send him back _ , he begged silently,  _ take him home _ .

“He had the nous to play for time,” the wizard said instead, stern and stubborn as ever. “None of the rest of you thought of that.”

Thorin couldn’t argue with that. The hobbit had been the most cool-headed of them all and he  _ had _ helped save their lives. But he couldn’t help but feel that Gandalf was really missing the point. Did he  _ want _ his friend to die on this quest? What in Mahal’s name was he playing at?

“They must have come down from the Ettenmoors,” Gandalf commented curiously, turning back to the trolls.

Thorin reluctantly accepted the change of subject. He’d work on the wizard later. He would have to admit sooner or later that the hobbit should not be coming on this quest.

“Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?” he asked sceptically.

“Oh, not for an age,” said Gandalf thoughtfully, and his face darkened. “Not since a darker power ruled these lands.”

Chills chased up and down Thorin’s spine. He remembered stories of a dark power in the east. He remembered a ring that had sat first on his grandfather’s finger, then his father’s. A ring that he had once told was to be his legacy.

“Handed down through generations from Durin III,” his father had told him, “made for him by Celebrimbor before the elves turned against us. One day it will be yours, my son.”

The ring had disappeared with his father at Azanulbizar.

“They could not have moved in daylight,” Gandalf commented, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having on Thorin.

“There must be a cave nearby,” said Thorin, his enthusiasm stemming more from avoiding the distraction of his memories than from eagerness to examine a troll’s hoard. He walked off a little way to find Nori.

“What do you need?” the thief asked without preamble, noticing his gaze.

“Troll’s hoard nearby,” he said shortly.

Nori nodded and darted away again. Thorin turned to see Gandalf eyeing him narrowly.

“Is something the matter?” he demanded.

“You don’t seem that interested in the hoard,” Gandalf commented.

“I told Nori to look for it, didn’t I?” Thorin pointed out.

“You did,” agreed Gandalf. “You didn’t want to look for yourself? Maybe enlist a few others in the search?”

Thorin shrugged. “Nori will find it. The others are with Oin.”

“You can see for yourself that they are not injured,” Gandalf said shrewdly.

He shifted a little under the wizard’s scrutiny. “No harm in making sure.” He sounded almost defensive even to his own ears.

“No,” said Gandalf. “No, there is not.”

Thorin waited for the wizard to say more but nothing else seemed forthcoming. He huffed and turned away, wondering irritably about the inscrutability of wizards.

Dwalin caught up with him after a moment. “Where’s the thief wandered off to?”

“I thought you were with Oin?” asked Thorin, taken slightly by surprise and trying to subtly check his friend over for injuries.

Dwalin snorted. “Very funny.” He did a double take at the look on Thorin’s face. “You’re being serious,” he said in disbelief.

“Well, you were being roasted on a spit,” grumbled Thorin uncomfortably. “Pardon me for being concerned.”

“Ah, you know it’d take more than three hungry rocks to get the better of me,” said Dwalin airily, his attempt at humour falling sadly short when paired with the wary look on his face. “It’s your blasted secret,” he concluded. “Thorin, if you would just tell me-”

“I will,” Thorin promised. “I’ll tell you everything. But not here. Nori’s gone to look for the troll’s hoard,” he added hurriedly when Dwalin started to look mulish.

That distracted him. “Better go after him before he nicks the lot,” Dwalin growled and made to go.

Thorin caught his arm. “Before you do,” he muttered, a little embarrassed, “could you just-”

Dwalin gave him a look that was half fondness, half exasperation. “He’s fine, Thorin. And don’t think I didn’t notice you hovering like an old mother hen to hear the exact same thing from Oin.”

“I know what Oin said,” Thorin gritted out, “I just want to be sure-”

“Mahal’s Hammer, Thorin, you could just talk to the blasted hobbit yourself, you know. He’s not a bad fellow. Bit wet behind the ears but decent enough.”

Thorin shook his head. “Go after your thief,” he told Dwalin, “and stop hounding me about my burglar.”

He walked away from Dwalin’s indignant splutters with a certain amount of vindictive pleasure. As though he hadn’t noticed Dwalin’s interest in Nori. To be fair, Dwalin thought he’d been subtle and it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Thorin would normally notice had he not been paying more attention to the company recently.

_ Three will die… _

His smile faded. He wondered how in Mahal’s name he was meant to tell him about the list. Balin was right, to a certain extent. Dwalin would be thrown off by this. But was it worth it to have him watch everyone’s backs? Not at the expense of his own, of course. But then, if Thorin told him about his own doom, Dwalin would be more concerned about watching out for him than the others. For the first time since he’d written the damn thing, Thorin regretted adding his own theories to the list. If he could just hand it over, the thing would be done with, but he couldn’t tell Dwalin about his casual acceptance of his own fate. His friend might just murder him himself, as ironic as that would be. So, tell him about the list but spare him his own theories on it? It still felt like lying to him, but if it would protect him, wasn’t it worth it?

Soon, Kíli came running up to him, eyes gleaming. “Uncle! They found it! They found the hoard!”

Thorin wanted to be angry at his nephew for putting the hobbit in danger but, looking into the young dwarf’s excited face, he found he couldn’t. He would have to talk to him about irresponsibility, but that could wait.

“Where are they?” he asked instead.

“I’ll take you over there,” Kíli suggested. “Dwalin’s keeping an eye on Nori outside it.”

Thorin nodded. “We’ll pack up the camp and join them. Round up the others.”

They found Dwalin and Nori in a little vale to the side of the clearing, in front of a deep cavern. Nori was looking quite smug, and Dwalin stiff and uncomfortable. Thorin ignored them.

“Torches!” He ordered, and Gloin passed one over.

Gandalf led the way into the cavern.

“Ugh, what’s that stench?” Bofur exclaimed.

“It’s a troll hoard,” Gandalf told him shortly. “Be careful what you touch.”

Thorin walked past the mounds of gold and a broken bedstead with a head stuck on it - best not to think about that - exploring to the back of the cave. There were a set of swords lined up together but two looked different to the rusted detritus that lay around them.

“These swords were not made by any troll,” he said wonderingly, picking them both up to examine them. He passed the longer of the two over to Gandalf, who had come over at his words.

“Nor were they made by any smith among men,” he agreed, looking at it closely. He blew the dust away as he pulled it a little out of the scabbard to study the blade. “These were forged in Gondolin,” he said softly, and Thorin froze, about to follow his example, “by the high elves of the first age.”

Elves again. He would not take an elvish weapon. Let it rust and rot away with the rest of the discarded rubbish of the trolls.

“You could not wish for a finer blade,” Gandalf said sharply as Thorin made to put it back.

Surprised by the vehemency of Gandalf’s scolding, Thorin drew the sword, half hoping to prove the wizard wrong. Damn him, he was right. The blade curved elegantly away from its dragon-tooth hilt, inlaid - beautifully, even Thorin had to admit - with sets of elvish script. Perfectly balanced, but light and easy to wield. Well, whatever else he could say about the elves - and he could say a lot - they were damn fine swordsmiths. He brought the sword closer to the light to examine it and tried to ignore the feel of Dwalin’s disapproving gaze.

“Let’s get out of this foul place,” he said, casting an eye over the three dwaves burying a chest. “Come on, let’s go. Bofur, Gloin, Nori!” he said more insistently when they didn’t move and led the way out of the cave.

“It’s a good sword,” he told Dwalin as they rounded up the rest of the company.

“Still elvish,” grunted Dwalin.

“And we’ll be putting it to better use than they would. Just imagine their faces if they see us wielding their treasures.”

Dwalin grinned at the image, somewhat mollified, but Thorin stiffened. He heard a rumbling and the snapping of branches and cried out, “Something’s coming!”

“Stay together,” called Gandalf sharply, coming to the front. “Hurry now! Arm yourselves!”

“Come on!” Thorin shouted and they all rushed to his side. All but one.. Where was the hobbit? Glancing back, he saw him still at the cave mouth looking at something in his hands. Was that a sword? But there was no time to wonder, no time, as an old decrepit man on a sleigh drawn by rabbits pulled up yelling, “Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

“Radagast!” said Gandalf in relief, “It’s Radagast the Brown! What on earth are you doing here?” he said, sheathing his sword and approaching the other wizard.

“I was looking for you, Gandalf,” Radagast said in a panic. “Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.”

“Yes?” asked Gandalf.

Radagast started to speak but stopped suddenly, looking confused.

_ Was it possible for wizards to go senile? _ Thorin wondered. He exchanged a look with Dwalin as Gandalf helped extract a stick insect from the tip of the Brown Wizard’s tongue.

“Can this wait?” he said quietly to Gandalf. “We should move on.”

“No, it cannot wait!” the other wizard piped up shrilly.

Gandalf gave Thorin a stern look from under his bushy eyebrows. “Radagast does not venture out of the forest for no reason,” he scolded, as though Thorin should know the habits of wizards he had never met. “This is an urgent matter.”

Thorin shrugged uncomfortably. “We’ll leave you to deal with it, then,” he said shortly.

The company dispersed over the ridge to leave the wizards to their conversation.

“How long d’you reckon this is going to take?” muttered Dwalin.

“Depends on the brown wizard,” said Thorin, casting an eye over the pair, “and whether he can keep more than half a thought in his head at once.”

Dwalin snorted. “Unlikely. Reckon we probably got the best deal in terms of wizards.”

“Not saying much,” grumbled Thorin. “Still, better an elf-lover than a mad one.”

“True enough,” agreed Dwalin. “So, where next?”

“Make for the High Pass to cross the Misty Mountains. Then the Old Forest Road through Mirkwood.”

“And the elves?”

“Try to avoid them,” said Thorin stiffly. “We could try to make our way around Mirkwood, but it’d add weeks to the journey.”

“Might be worth it,” Dwalin suggested half-heartedly.

Thorin almost agreed. The last thing they needed on this quest was any blasted elves getting in the way. But if they were careful going through the forest, there wouldn’t be any need for that.

He idly watched Gandalf encouraging Radagast to try his pipe and thought through the list again. The elves would suit the betrayal line - it was in their natures - but he would go clean shaven before he called an elf ‘the dearest of all’.

He started at the sound of a distant howl.

“Was that a wolf?” the hobbit asked nervously, “Are there- are there wolves out there?”

“Wolves?” Bofur repeated ominously, his customary cheerfulness gone. “No, that is not a wolf.”

Thorin tensed at the fear in the miner’s voice and turned sharply as a low growl echoed around the clearing.

The warg leapt at Bofur, knocking him to the ground. Thorin swung his sword deep into the beast’s neck. He cursed as the blade stuck and more snarls came from behind him. Kíli shot an arrow before the next one could attack and Dwalin dispatched it with a heavy blow.

“Warg scouts,” Thorin snarled as he finally managed to pull his sword free, “which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” repeated the hobbit in disbelief.

“Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?” Gandalf demanded.

Thorin stared at him. Was he suggesting…

_ Betrayal will come from the dearest of all... _

“No one,” he said but the wizard didn’t believe him.

“Who did you tell?” he barked.

“No one, I swear,” he insisted. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“You’re being hunted,” the wizard said grimly.

“We have to get out of here,” growled Dwalin.

“We can’t!” cried Ori fearfully. “We have no ponies - they bolted!”

“I’ll draw them off,” proclaimed Radagast and Thorin felt his respect for the bizarre wizard rise.

_ Three shall die… _

Perhaps…?

“These are Gundabad wargs,” Gandalf snapped, “they will outrun you.”

“ _ These _ are Rhosgobel rabbits,” Radagast told him proudly. “I’d like to see them try.”

They waited until Radagast had mounted his sled and taken off from the clearing before slipping out themselves, taking shelter behind trees and rocks.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the hobbit muttered to him.

Some part of him dimly noticed that those were the first words the hobbit had spoken to him since joining the quest. As it was, he was feeling so tense at the whole situation that he didn’t reply.

“Come and get me!” they heard Radagast yell.

“Come on,” Gandalf called out.

They followed the wizard across the plains, taking refuge where they could find it among the rocks.

Thorin pulled up short, seeing the orc pack chasing the flimsy sleigh. They were too close, if one of them turned now, they would be spotted.

“Stay together,” Gandalf urged them. “Move!”

They ran. Thorin’s heart was pounding. Was this it? Was this where they were going to die? But who? Eleven of them would be safe. He was going to hold Mahal to that. But three…

“Ori, no!” he cried, pulling the youngest dwarf back to safety behind the rock before he could be seen. “Get back!”

“All of you, come one! Come on, quick!” Gandalf hurried them past urgently, his eyes fixed on the pack chasing his friend.

“Where are you leading us?” Thorin demanded, a nasty feeling growing in his gut.

Gandalf didn’t answer, sparing him a look that was almost apologetic before following the others.

Thorin rolled his eyes at the wizard’s typical reticence but didn’t stop them. He’d find out soon enough.

They ducked behind another rocky outcrop as the pack circled round again. Then Thorin heard it. That vicious, blood-thirsty snarl. There was one right on top of them. He risked a glance up. The orc was turning his mount around, scanning for any sign of them. He caught Kíli’s eye and glanced meaningfully at his bow.

His nephew took a shuddering breath but obediently notched an arrow. He hesitated for a moment, then darted forwards, spinning to aim at the vile creature.

Thorin’s heart caught in his mouth as he saw Kíli’s aim was not quite true and the orc raised his horn to summon his comrades. Before he had a chance to, Kíli loosed another arrow and shot the orc down from the rock. It let out a hideous squeal and charged but Dwalin and Bifur took point. They beat the creature back until Thorin could step in to fell it. They froze as the howls and screams of the orcs paused then wheeled around to draw nearer to them.

“Move,” cried Gandalf, “Run!”

And they were running again. The hunters close on their tail.

“There they are!” shouted Gloin.

“This way!” Gandalf gestured with his staff. “Quickly!”

“There’s more coming,” Kíli cried out.

The wargs were rounding the top of the hill.

“Kíli!” yelled Thorin desperately, “Shoot them!”

But there was no time and the orcs were quickly surrounding them, snarling fiercely. Even with his nephew’s skill with a bow, there were too many.

_ Three shall die… _

_ Stop it _ , he thought fiercely to himself.  _ We will all get through this _ . They had to…

“We’re surrounded,” Fíli shouted.

They were starting to back up into a tight defensive circle. Kíli managed to kill one orc with an arrow but the others just kept on coming.

“Where’s Gandalf?” someone cried, Thorin didn’t pay attention as to who.

“He’s abandoned us,” Dwalin snarled, taking up a position beside Thorin.

Thorin glanced around for the wizard but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Dwalin was right. He dimly noted with a flash of relief that the hobbit was safely behind them. At least they could defend him from there.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin commanded, drawing his sword as the orcs advanced menacingly.

“This way, you fools!” came a voice from behind them and Thorin turned sharply to see Gandalf vanishing between the rocks.

“Come on, move!” he shouted, running over there. “Quickly, all of you! Go, go, go!”

One by one they slid down the opening in the rocks, Thorin mentally counting them off as they went. He stayed back to defend the tunnel until they were all safe. Kíli wasn’t moving - still taking out as many orcs as he could with his arrows.

“Kíli!” he yelled, panic rising in his throat. “Run!”

Finally his nephew obeyed and Thorin jumped down the hole after him, just as horns sounded out.  _ What now? _ But they were all safe, that was the important thing. The prophecy had not come to pass.

_ Not yet _ , said a little voice in his head, but he ignored it.

The sounds of battle emanated from the ground above and they stood there, huddled and tense, not knowing if they should charge back out.

Suddenly, an orc fell through and landed at their feet, an arrow sticking from his throat. Thorin pulled it out.

“Elves,” he spat, recognising the metalwork. He looked accusingly at Gandalf but the wizard would not meet his eye. He  _ knew _ Thorin did not want to come this way.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads,” Dwalin called out from the back of the cave, “Do we follow it or not?”

“Follow it, of course!” Bofur cried, leading the others down the path.

Thorin went with the others, grinding his teeth slightly. They couldn’t very well go back out there with the orc pack about but, Mahal, if there had been any other choice he would have taken it rather than gone to meet the elves.

“I think that would be wise,” he heard Gandalf mutter cheerfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine
> 
> I've got to be honest, I'm not a massive fan of this chapter. Due to its nature, it's more filler than anything else, which is necessary but not overly fun. Which meant the characters were fighting me a lot. Still, done and dusted now and I don't think the end result is too dreadful. We'll get back to angsty fun stuff soon.
> 
> Oh yes, and I'm starting to build up a Dwalin/Nori ship because fun.
> 
> Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

Rivendell. The house of the blasted elves. Thorin glared into his glass of wine. He was stubbornly ignoring the stunning vista that could be seen through the elegant archways surrounding this parlour he’d found to sulk in. He hated that he’d been dragged here against his will. He’d been perfectly clear to Gandalf that he hadn’t wanted to go within a mile of this place. And yes, he hadn’t had much option in the end - the orcs had seen to that - but he had a nasty feeling that Gandalf would have found a way to get them here no matter what. To add salt to the wound, the lord of this house - Elrond - had been welcoming and gracious, which had entirely negated Thorin’s objections to coming here. He hadn’t even looked askance at Thorin carrying the Gondolin blade, merely told him that it was named Orcrist. That had rankled Thorin a little. It wasn’t that he was  _ looking _ for trouble. Contrary to popular opinion, he enjoyed a quiet life as much as the next dwarf. He just didn’t enjoy being painted as unreasonable by blasted elves.

“Um, Thorin?” came a quiet voice from behind him. Thorin turned to find Bilbo hovering in the doorway. Unlike him, the hobbit had appeared to be perfectly at home here almost the minute they had stepped through the gateway.

“What is it?” he asked gruffly.

“Gandalf sent me to fetch you.” The hobbit shifted his feet nervously. “He said you had urgent business to discuss with Lord Elrond.”

Thorin scowled. Damn the wizard.  _ Gandalf _ may have business with the elf but Thorin was quite certain that  _ he _ did not. Still, he was not confident that Gandalf wouldn’t reveal all to the elf if he didn’t go to meet them. He got up to leave but the burglar’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Also-” he turned back to face Bilbo. The hobbit was standing there, thumbs thrust into the pocket of his waist coat, looking incredibly uncomfortable. The odd look piqued Thorin’s curiosity. The burglar took a deep breath and said, “I think I may have offended you. I’m not entirely sure how, I admit, but I’m sorry for it.”

Thorin stared at him. Offended by the hobbit? Where in Durin’s name had he got that idea? Granted, Thorin hadn’t made an effort to get to know him. Or talk to him at all. And some of his fussing verged on the irritating side of endearing. Concerned, anxious, occasionally frustrated - yes. But offended? The only offensive thing about him was how vulnerable he was. How easily Thorin could imagine him dying.

“You shouldn’t be on this quest,” he told the hobbit, and only realised how his words would be taken when Bilbo’s face fell.

“I didn’t mean-” he began helplessly, but Bilbo had already left.

He didn’t catch up with him until they found the others and Thorin was unable to apologise for his clumsy words. Like hell would Thorin admit fault in front of an elf.

“I’ve brought Thorin,” the burglar announced to Gandalf, Elrond, and Balin. They were all waiting for him in the library, away from the main body of the house.

_ At least they’ve found somewhere private _ , Thorin thought irritably.

“Excellent, thank you, Bilbo,” said Gandalf jovially.

The hobbit nodded his response and seemed to be about to go. Before he had fully thought it through, Thorin’s hand closed around the hobbit’s arm, pulling him up short. Bilbo gave him a very surprised look, but didn’t question him. Thorin was grateful for that. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain to this creature that he’d barely spoken to that he gave him hope and confidence. That he kept him calm. Perhaps that would dismiss the absurd idea that the hobbit had offended him somehow.

Balin looked at him narrowly, but Gandalf and the elf thankfully didn’t seem to have noticed.

Gandalf was too busy talking about the map.

“I can certainly have a look at it,” said Elrond graciously.

“Our business is no concern of elves,” Thorin growled.

“For goodness sake,” Gandalf said exasperatedly. “Thorin, show him the map!”

Balin paced tensely. Whatever he had thought of the idea before, he was a dwarf through and through. Secrets were as natural to them as breathing.

“It is the legacy of my people,” Thorin said stubbornly. “It’s mine to protect. As are its secrets.”

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves,” Gandalf muttered. Aloud, he said “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

They  _ did _ need to know what the map said if they were to have any success. Thorin could acknowledge that. He slowly got the map out.

_ Enemies will aid you… _

Well, that would explain that line of the prophecy. But why did it have to be the elves? Although he could admit that for all elves were double-dealing, backstabbing tricksters, Elrond was not the worst of them.

“Thorin, no!” Balin pleaded, reaching out to stop him, his dwarvish need for secrets and privacy finally winning over his desire for information.

For once, however, Thorin ignored him, brushing his arm away. Balin had been the one preaching tolerance after all. Thorin handed over the map.

Elrond studied it closely.

“Erebor,” he said sharply, looking at Thorin suspiciously. Thorin met his gaze, daring the elf to challenge him on it. “What is your interest in this map?” the elf asked shrewdly.

“It’s mainly academic,” Gandalf assured him hurriedly, “As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text.”

Thorin gave Gandalf a grateful look, Mahal praise his quick thinking. At least Gandalf had agreed with him that the elves would not bless their quest.

“You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?” the wizard asked as Elrond turned away to shine a little more light on the map.

“Cirth ithil,” Elrond muttered instead of answering.

“Moon runes,” Gandalf realised. “Of course. An easy thing to miss,” he assured them all.

“Well in this case, that is true,” acknowledged Elrond. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

“Can you read them?” Thorin asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. They needed the information from that map.  _ Please _ , he asked silently,  _ please say you can read them _ .

“I believe so,” Elrond said. “Come with me.”

He led the way out of the library, away from the rest of the house.

Thorin could hear the rest of the company making merry in one of the rooms they had been given.

“Thorin,” Bilbo asked quietly as they went, “why did you tell me to stay?”

Thorin answered with the first thing that came to mind. “You know about maps. I thought you might be of some use to us.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “How do you know I study maps?”

Too late, Thorin realised his mistake. His answer had shown too much insight into the hobbit. Too much interest. Not that he wanted the burglar to feel unwelcome, but showing interest in him might provoke interest in return. It might make him more invested in their quest. Thorin was still hoping that he’d turn back.

“You had maps,” he said hurriedly, “on the walls of your house. Looked like you’d written on them. That’s all.”

“Yes, I mark out all my favourite walks,” stuttered Bilbo.

“Well, there you are then,” said Thorin briskly. “If you don’t think you can help, or you aren’t interested, feel free to go back to the rest of the company.”

_ Don’t _ , he hoped silently, then cursed himself for having that hope. Did something in him like this ridiculous self-imposed torment of wanting to get to know the hobbit and wishing to keep him at arm’s length for safety’s sake?

Bilbo put an end to his inner turmoil by unknowingly interrupting.

“I’ll stay if that’s alright with you,” he said quietly.

Thorin didn’t answer, resolutely ignoring the relief that filtered through his heart.

Elrond led them to a great chasm, screened by a huge waterfall from the vista of the surrounding hills. He laid the map on a large crystal, erupting from the rock and glowing in the moonlight. Thorin wondered at the serenity of the place as Elrond explained the nature of the runes on the parchment.

“Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield,” he added kindly. “The same moon shines upon us tonight.”

Thorin followed his gaze to the moon that was just emerging from behind the clouds. The light trickled down, making the crystal shine all the brighter and illuminating a new set of runes on the map. Thorin knew that writing. It was not his grandfather’s hand, as the rest of the map was, but his father’s. The old longing to see his father resurfaced once again. He was not dead. He couldn’t be.

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” Elrond read, “and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

He distantly heard Gandalf explaining Durin’s day to Bilbo as he mentally calculated how much time they had left. About three months. All things being well, there was just enough time to reach the mountain to look for the hidden door. There was certainly not enough time to avoid Mirkwood altogether.

“This is ill news,” he said, almost to himself. He spared a brief glance at Elrond, then spoke to Balin. “Summer is passing, Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

“We still have time,” Balin assured him.

“Time? For what?” Bilbo asked.

“To find the entrance,” Balin said. “We have to be standing at exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”

“So this is your purpose,” Elrond concluded, “to enter the mountain.”

“What of it?” Thorin challenged.

“There are some who would not deem it wise,” Elrond told him sternly as he handed back the map.

So much for not telling the elves their full purpose. They would have to leave in secret before Elrond had a chance to stop them.  _ But not tonight _ , he conceded. They all needed the rest. And to restock their food supplies.

Thorin barely listened to Elrond talking to Gandalf before he left. Durin’s Day was so close and they still had most of Middle-Earth to cross. But according to the prophecy, their quest would be successful. He was starting to wonder how.

“Balin,” he said abruptly, “find Dwalin. Bring him back to the library. I need to talk to you both.”

Balin’s lips thinned, clearly realising what it was about, but he nodded anyway. He guided Bilbo out of the door by his shoulder when the hobbit hesitated, leaving Thorin staring at the moonlit woods and hills before him. They were in the foothills of the Misty Mountains now. They still had to cross them, and Mirkwood, not to mention the rest of the Wilderland and Esgaroth before they would reach Erebor. Even with Mahal’s assurance… but it wasn’t assurance, was it? That was just down to Thorin’s assumptions. Mahal had been deliberately vague.

_ You will gain more than you thought possible _ …

If that wasn’t his home then what was it? Having Dwalin and Balin’s perspectives on the thing may help matters, he thought glumly as he made his way back to the library. It wasn’t as though telling them could make the situation worse.

The brothers were already waiting for him.

“What’s this about?” Dwalin asked as soon as he came into the room.

Thorin paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I told you I’d let you know what was going on,” he began slowly, “but now I’m not entirely sure of that myself.”

“Meaning you’re not going to say, or you want advice on it?” Dwalin asked pragmatically, with the slightest hint of annoyance.

Thorin shot him a faintly amused look. “I’ll tell you. But if my interpretation is correct then I’m not quite sure how we’re going to manage it.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Dwalin said cheerfully, seating himself on a nearby stool.

Thorin and Balin also sat down and, as Thorin began telling them about the prophecy, Dwalin’s eyes got steadily narrower. Balin just looked incredibly unhappy about it, and Thorin realised that he had not actually asked his friend again whether he wanted to hear the whole thing. He pushed down the pang of guilt - he needed Balin’s opinion on this.

“Why couldn’t Mahal tell you straight?” grumbled Dwalin. “Why couldn’t he have just told you what in Durin’s name he was on about?”

“That may have been more helpful, brother,” said Balin with a somewhat strained smile, “but considerably less like a prophecy.”

“Ok, so let’s think about this,” said Dwalin, leaning forward with a look of intense concentration. “Don’t know who’s going to die, so let’s put that to one side for now. What about this betrayal line? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I don’t like the sound of any of it,” Balin muttered, but Dwalin ignored him.

“Who would you say is your ‘dearest of all’?” he asked Thorin.

“I don’t know,” said Thorin honestly. “Dís, Fíli, Kíli. You two.”

“Stop it, you’ll make me blush,” grinned Dwalin.

Thorin glared at him, but was distracted by Balin’s thoughtful look. “What is it?” he asked the older dwarf.

“What about Bilbo?” he suggested.

Thorin froze. How had that not occurred to him before? After all, they really knew very little about him, and he  _ had _ been contracted as a burglar - not the most honourable of professions. As much as he hated his suspicions, Balin’s idea did have some merit.

Dwalin disagreed. “The hobbit?” he snorted. “Thorin hasn’t had time to make him the ‘dearest of all’ yet.” He gave a lewd wink and Thorin threw a book at him. “I’d be more likely to count him among the dead three than the betraying one. Oh,” he added with a look of blank surprise, “that’s an answer.”

“What is?” asked Thorin.

“‘Gain more’ could mean your One, ‘lose more’ - the hobbit, Fíli, and Kíli being the dead three.”

“No,” said Thorin flatly.

“It makes sense,” Dwalin argued.

“It’s not happening.”

“It could.”

“This is a pointless argument,” interrupted Balin, “given there could be any number of scenarios that would fit. You originally told me a different one yourself, Thorin.”

Thorin gave him a warning look as Dwalin asked, “What was that?”

“He told me the prophecy showed our quest would succeed,” Balin said, with a quick glance at Thorin. Understanding passed between the two of them.

Dwalin brightened. “Aye, I like that version. That would be the ‘gain more’ line, yes?”

“Yes,” Thorin said shortly. “But how we’re meant to do it before Durin’s Day, I’ve no idea.”

“We’ll work it out,” Dwalin said confidently. “After all, we have Mahal’s blessing. How did you interpret the rest?”

Thorin sighed. “Aid from enemies - I suppose that’s the elves,” he admitted reluctantly. “Abadoned by friends - Dain. Claiming the Arkenstone-” he hesitated, then said, “Erebor will not be lost to us again.

“I never knew you were so optimistic,” chuckled Dwalin. “What about the ‘lose more’ line?”

Thorin could feel Balin’s eyes on him.

“I connected it to the death line,” he admitted. “Bilbo.”

That admission sobered Dwalin up. “I’ll look after him,” he promised. “I’ll protect him for you.”

“We both think he’s going to die,” Thorin pointed out hopelessly. “Maybe that would be better.”

“Than what?” demanded Dwalin. “Fíli and Kíli? Thorin, I can  _ hear _ how much the idea pains you. If you genuinely think that would be better, wipe a spot from the three dead, I’ll go drop him off a cliff right now.”

Balin gave an indignant cry, but Thorin could see Dwalin’s point.

“No,” he said heavily. “No, I don’t think it would be better.”

“So, as I was saying, I’ll protect him,” Dwalin continued. “If the troll incident shows anything, it’s definitely that his life is going to need saving frequently on this quest.”

“You don’t know that,” objected Balin. “We may find hidden depths to Mister Baggins yet.”

“We may,” said Dwalin, with doubtful amusement, “but someone who needs to be rescued from trolls on no less than three separate occasions in a single evening does not exactly inspire confidence in his survival.”

“That is perhaps true,” said Balin, his mouth twitching. “And should we inform your new protectee of your recent suggestion of murdering him?”

Dwalin narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You wouldn’t.”

“Perhaps he should know what he’s getting into,” Balin said with a completely straight face.

Dwalin cracked his knuckles.

“Enough,” Thorin said, tiring quickly of the brothers’ mockery. “Do we have time to succeed in this quest?”

“I would say so,” Balin said thoughtfully. “We don’t have much of it, but enough to reach the mountain before Durin’s Day. After that-”

“We just need to battle a dragon for our gold,” Thorin finished sardonically.

Balin gave him a look. “We just need the Arkenstone,” he said sternly. “With that we unite the dwarves, we come back, we kill the dragon. If he’s still alive. You said yourself he hasn’t been seen in years.”

“Yes, but we still need to find out,” Thorin told him. “And if he is, then we’re planning on stealing from a live dragon.”

“Well no,” Dwalin pointed out. “We’ll be sending  _ Bilbo _ to steal from a live dragon.”

Thorin didn’t meet his eye.

“You still want him to turn back?” Balin sighed. “I don’t think he’s going to.”

“He might,” said Thorin stubbornly. “Particularly after the trolls. He may not have realised the danger he was in before.”

“He fainted when he read the contract,” Balin reminded him. “He understood the dangers of the quest and he came anyway. No, I’d say our burglar is in it for the long haul.”

Thorin scowled. When both brothers were united in an opinion, it usually turned out to be correct. He just didn’t like this particular opinion they shared.

“We’re going to have to leave soon,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. “Did Balin tell you?”

“Yes, Durin’s Day.” Dwalin shook his head. “It doesn’t give us very long. Still we may just make it. No chance of avoiding the wood elves, though.”

“No chance of avoiding  _ Mirkwood _ ,” Thorin corrected. “I hope that avoiding the elves is still possible.”

He was about to say more on the subject of ‘elves to avoid’ - namely sneaking out of Rivendell before they could be stopped - but he thought he saw a shadow moving from the corner of his eye. He’d thought this room was more or less private, particularly at this time of the night, but better not to risk it. After all, they would have enough time for preparations and plans later.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, he spoke to each of the company one by one, with the exception of Bilbo, informing them of the plan to leave in the early hours of the following morning. Some of them - Ori in particular - were a little disappointed to be leaving so soon, but they all understood the time constraints that had suddenly been imposed upon them. He left the job of telling Bilbo to Bofur. No need to encourage his own emotions more than necessary.

He was just leaving Bombur’s room when a low, musical voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hail, King Under the Mountain.”

He turned to see a tall dark-haired elf maiden gazing at him from the shadows. Her looks bore a striking similarity to Lord Elrond, but gentler somehow. She did not look as though she were a warrior, like him, but those piercing grey eyes still held Mithril in their depths. Strength, but not steel as his were.

“You know me?” He asked stiffly. “I have not seen you here before.”

She smiled, and her face was carved from purest gems of starlight.

“I have not returned to my father’s house for many years,” she told him. “I have been staying for a time with my kin to the south. But a messenger was needed and I welcomed the opportunity for a brief visit.”

“And what do you want with me?” He demanded.

“Is it not usual to welcome a guest?” She asked.

“Your guests have already been welcomed,” he pointed out, a little harshly, “and by those who actually live in this house. Which returns us to my previous question. What is your business with me? And, while we’re about it, I don’t think I caught your name.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You raise a good point, Master Oakenshield. I am Arwen Undómiel, called the evenstar by my people. As for my business, it is in fact  _ your _ business that I wish to discuss.”

Thorin gritted his teeth. “I had not realised your father would discuss my affairs so freely.”

She smiled gently. “My father has not said a word on this matter,” she assured him. “Nor would he, to those who were not already aware of it. He would have many more enemies if he did not know how to keep his counsel.”

“If it was not Elrond-” Thorin began, but Arwen cut across him.

“There are many rooms in my father’s house,” she said. “Places for music, or poetry, or quiet contemplation. My favourite is a place for solitude. A reminder and warning of the past and hope for the future. So imagine my surprise when I came to the library last night to find a clandestine meeting being held there instead of its customary seclusion.”

Fury took hold of Thorin. “You spied on us?”

“No,” she replied calmly, “but as you are in an elven house, you might have taken elven hearing into account. I realised that you wanted to be left in peace and so checked through the surrounding rooms and ensured that the conversation remained private.”

“Private except for you,” Thorin pointed out harshly.

“But who would I tell?” She looked utterly guileless, but Thorin was not ready to trust her.

“Your father,” he enumerated. “Your southern kin. Anyone else it takes your fancy to talk to.”

She met his gaze steadily, but the star-gems of her face had changed to diamond - cold and impenetrable. “I would not readily share secrets that do not belong to me. Some of my kin can see into my mind. Others can see my future. I know the value of privacy.”

Thorin stared at her. “I had heard of such powers among the elves,” he said, “but did not expect to encounter it. To be a part of such a family... nothing you do would be kept to yourself.”

“No,” she agreed.

“How do you stand it?”

She smiled a little sadly and her face softened once more. “I’ve had a great many years to grow accustomed to it. Be that as it may, keeping your business private meant I heard what it contained. You spoke with Aulë.”

He saw no point in denying it. “Yes.”

“You can trust your friends, Thorin,” she told him gently.

He snorted. “You are not my friend.”

“It’s a pity you feel that way,” she said lightly. “However I was not referring to myself but to your companions.”

“And you’re sure I can trust them?” He raised an eyebrow. “If you heard my conversation, you would have heard the reason why I can’t. One of them will betray me.”

“You named several people whom that could apply to when your friend asked. Those closest to you. Do you have any reason to doubt their affection?”

Thorin thought for a moment, considering her question. His immediate reaction would have been to deny everything, but there was a solemnity in her manner which made him take her words seriously. He shook his head pensively.

“Then does it not follow that they would have a very good reason to betray you?”

Thorin could acknowledge her logic. “What would you have me do about it then?”

“Trust your friends. And when the time comes, talk to them. Find out why they are betraying you. You never know, you may be able to help them find another way.”

He considered this. “You don’t have the gift of foresight too, do you? You can’t tell me who it is?”

The silver bells of her laugh peeled out. “I sometimes wish it were so, but no. I am content to walk the path before my feet without knowing where the road will take me.”

“And seeing into the minds of others?”

She shook her head with a smile. “It is a gift reserved for those far greater than I.”

“Then how do you know I do not trust my friends?” he demanded suddenly.

“Call it intuition, if you like,” she told him calmly. “There was something you were avoiding saying about losing everything. I have made an assumption, though I pray I’m wrong, that you connect that with your own death.”

Thorin was silent.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel,” she muttered. “You cannot believe your maker would spend his beloved son’s life so rashly.”

“One life for a kingdom? For a people?” he argued. “I would call such a price cheap, not rash.”

“But your friend would not agree with such an assessment,” she said. “That is why you did not tell him.”

“No, he would not accept it,” Thorin sighed.

“Perhaps that is reason enough why he should be told,” Arwen suggested. “One thing I have learned from my father is that the future is not set in stone. It is a series of winding paths, connecting together and leading away. Perhaps that is one future that can be avoided. Perhaps Aulë told you these things so you can protect your company. So you can change your future.”

“I tried to stop my company coming here,” Thorin told her. “It didn’t change the prophecy.”

“From what I hear, you were fighting against Mithrandir on that one,” she smiled.

“True,” he inclined his head. “But if I do not know what the prophecy means, how can I change it?”

“There are things that you don’t want the prophecy to mean, aren’t there? You can certainly do your utmost to avoid them.”

“And how do I know that won’t cause something worse to happen?”

“You don’t,” she told him honestly. “That is the curse of knowing the future. You must allow certain things to happen, in order to prevent things that you can’t bear to happen.”

“My death is something I can bear,” he argued.

“And your people? Your friends? Would they feel the same way?”

“Which is why I’m not telling them,” Thorin said impatiently. “This conversation has now returned to its beginning. I will bid you good day.”

“If your nephews were to die on this quest,” she said quietly before he could depart, “what would become of your kingdom? Would you be quite so easy with your own death then?”

He stared at her. “I won’t let that happen,” he told her. “That would be a future I couldn’t bear.”

“And if they planned to? Would you want to know? Would you stop them?”

He inclined his head. “You make a good point, lady. I will think on it.”

“Will you also think about telling your burglar when you are planning to leave? Why are you so determined that he should be left behind?”

He looked at her sharply but her eyes were as clear as the purest diamond - no trickery or mischief hidden in their depths. “I think perhaps you have more of your family’s insight than you led me to believe,” he said.

“Not at all,” she said. “Merely a strong intuition and curiosity. Will you consider it?”

“Telling him? I’ll consider it. It would be safer for him to remain behind.”

“But should that not be his choice?”

Thorin gritted his teeth again. “I told you I would consider it. Is that not enough?”

“It is enough for now,” she conceded. “The rest I will leave to your conscience. And so I leave you.” She turned to go.

“Is that it?” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” she sounded genuinely perplexed by his anger.

“You stop me, lecture me, then leave?”

“And what should I do instead?”

“Give advice! Share wisdom!” barked Thorin. “Or else leave me to my business without involving yourself.”

“I merely sought to help,” she said, her eyes dulled with bemused hurt.

“All you’ve said is that I can trust my friends - a fact which I already knew.” Some part of him knew that he was being unjust but most was too lost and screaming for help to care. “Elves are rumoured to be wise. If just  _ one _ of you would live up to your reputation-”

“No one can tell you what to do, Thorin Oakenshield,” she broke in firmly. “You can take my advice or leave it as you choose but I cannot and will not tell you what path to take.  _ You _ are the King of your people. Not I. Only you can decide what is best for them and best for you. And there, I’m afraid, I cannot aid you. You must do as you see fit.”

With those words, she swept away. Thorin felt a pang of guilt for taking his frustrations out on her, followed immediately by a pang of annoyance. She was an elf, what business was it of hers anyway? He should not feel guilty for merely speaking the truth.

Though he would never have admitted it to the elf-maid, Thorin did find his mind consumed by her words for the rest of the day. It was indeed the hobbit’s choice whether to stay in safety or to travel with them into perils as yet unknown. It was not fair of him to rob Bilbo of that decision. Still, it wasn’t until evening fell that he actually went looking for the hobbit.

They’d spent the day subtly collecting supplies, quietly emptying the kitchens and refueling their packs. A dim corner of Thorin’s mind argued that, although these preparations were very necessary, he was in part using them to avoid Bilbo.

Bofur could be trusted with telling Bilbo the plan. He knew that. The miner was quite fond of their halfling companion. So why did he feel so damnably guilty about not telling the hobbit himself?

Bilbo would still be convinced, he knew, that he had no place on this quest. Thorin may have privately agreed with that assessment, but there was no need to make the hobbit feel unwelcome and unwanted. Though that may make him turn back, Thorin supposed. One would not continue a quest one was not welcome on. Then again, he thought of the apology Bilbo had made to him. Clearly, he was under the impression that Thorin had taken a personal exception to him. Could he let the hobbit travel home again with nothing to show for his troubles and under the impression that he was disliked both by the company and by Thorin himself?

These final thoughts made up his mind as he went to find Bilbo that evening.

The rest of the company were quite merrily celebrating their last night with the elves - by breaking their furniture, it seemed.

Bilbo was on the stairs high above them, head bowed and listening intently.

Thorin was about to approach the hobbit when he heard the conversation Bilbo was eavesdropping on.

“What would happen if your plan should fail?” Elrond was asking of Gandalf. “If you wake the beast?”

“But if we succeed?” Gandalf countered. “If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the east will be strengthened.”

Well, at least the wizard was on their side, even if he was helping them for his own ends.

“It is a dangerous move, Gandalf,” Elrond cautioned.

“It is also dangerous to do nothing!”

Bilbo glanced back and saw Thorin standing there. Their eyes met for a moment, but Bilbo looked away uncomfortably as Gandalf asked. “What is it you fear?”

“Have you forgotten a strain of madness runs deep in that family?” Elrond reminded the wizard.

All thoughts of speaking to the hobbit fell away from Thorin’s mind. The elf dared discuss this? His family’s shame was now open gossip to be discussed at leisure? To be used to discredit him?

“His grandfather lost his mind,” the elf continued, ignorant of his pained audience. “His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

Thorin did not want to hear any more. He wanted to deny it, wanted to be furious, wanted to summon his kin to avenge this insult. Unbidden, images crept into his mind. His grandfather, wise and resplendent on his throne before the sickness had taken him. The same dwarf scurrying about his treasure room, back bent from the weight of the jewels he now wore, his eyes burning with a savage fire. His mind consumed as he painstakingly gloried in each individual piece of treasure, from the smallest coin to the Arkenstone itself, that glittering symbol of their kingdom. He was well aware of the dangers of their journey, but how certain could he be that he would not follow his grandfather’s fate once they’d reached their destination?

“Thorin?” Bilbo said tentatively.

Thorin came back to himself to find that Gandalf and Elrond had moved on and were no longer on the path below them. Bilbo was staring at him worriedly.

“I am  _ not _ my grandfather,” he growled, half to himself. He expected the hobbit to turn away, or to caution him that he could be more like Thrain than he might know.

“What was he like?” Bilbo asked quietly instead.

Thorin blinked at the hobbit. It had been a long time since anyone had asked that. “Brave,” he said at last, “even to the end. He was once counted among the greatest kings this world has known, but for all that, he was once kind. Generous. But then he was consumed by obsession. He would have sacrificed anything, anyone to it. Even himself. Even his family.” Emotion choked his throat. “When Erebor was lost, he tried to use Khazad-dûm - Moria - to fuel his obsession instead,” he said after a moment.

“Balin told us,” Bilbo reminded him. “The battle with the pale orc. Where you became the king.”

“Azanulbizar,” Thorin sighed heavily. “The battle against Azog the Defiler. What Balin didn’t tell you was that my brother was amongst those lost. Sacrificed to my grandfather’s ambition. I am not him.”

“No, you are not,” agreed Bilbo.

Thorin looked at him in surprise.

“I haven’t known you very long,” Bilbo said, “and I’m afraid I don’t know you very well. But even I could see that you would never allow Fíli and Kíli to be hurt for any reason, let alone a selfish one. I don’t think you're capable of that. They told me you’re their uncle,” he added to Thorin’s questioning look.

He should criticise his nephew’s loose tongues. He should argue that sometimes the greater good must come before family. He should scoff and say that none could tell what the future may hold. But Thorin could only stare wordlessly at the hobbit, a lump building in his throat. As he had said, he didn’t know Thorin well, how could he just deny the frailty that ran through Thorin’s bloodline? How could he show so much faith in him? He should thank him, should apologise for his coldness and for the misunderstandings that had plagued them, but what came out of his mouth instead was: “We leave at dawn.”

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped a little.

“Yes,” he said, “Bofur told me. We definitely can’t stay any longer?”

_ For you _ , Thorin wanted to say,  _ I would stay for a month. But wait until you see my mountain - it’s so much better than this place. _

“No, we can’t,” he said. “Get some sleep while you can. We wait for no one in the morning.”

_ Stay _ , he thought,  _ stay safe. Oversleep and stay. _

But no such luck. When morning came, the hobbit was there with the others. Thorin was torn between relief and disappointment.

Mindful of the elf-maid’s comment about elven hearing, Thorin cautioned the others to silence until they were out of the valley.

They managed to get out and onto the High Pass through the Misty Mountains without incident. Most of them were quite cheerful about pulling the wool over the elves’ eyes and spirits were generally high. 

“Be on your guard,” Thorin warned, “we’re about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on.”

“Alright,” said Balin amiably, stepping forward to take the lead.

Thorin saw Bilbo stop for one last longing look towards the Last Homely House.

“Master Baggins,” he said firmly. “I suggest you keep up.”

If Bilbo was going to be coming with them, against Thorin’s better judgement, then he was going to make sure the hobbit remained in the middle of the group where the rest of them could keep him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!
> 
> Thorin's very emotionally constipated here because it amuses me.
> 
> As always, any text you recognise was not written by me but is a transcript of the film.
> 
> Enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mountains and giants.

The road they had taken soon flattened out into rocky foothills and they made good progress for some time. Thorin tried very hard not to notice the look of longing that occasionally stole over their burglar’s face. He had quite obviously been enchanted by the blasted elves at Rivendell. Thorin ground his teeth. It irked him that Bilbo seemed more taken with his enemy than his own people.

He found himself walking at the back of the company beside Nori for part of the journey and decided to take his opportunity.

“You and Dwalin,” he said.

If Nori was surprised by the abrupt conversation, he didn’t show it.

“What about us?” he asked.

“Ones?”

Nori snorted. “Not that he’ll admit it.”

“His pride?” Thorin checked.

“Yes,” agreed Nori, “and until he swallows it nothing’s going to happen.”

Thorin knew there was something of a history between the two. Dwalin had caught Nori stealing on multiple occasions.

“If we were in Erebor,” he remembered Dwalin grumbling at one point, “I’d have him locked in the dungeons before you could say ‘thief’.”

Yes, Dwalin’s pride would be an obstacle to that pairing.

“That might take a while,” he cautioned the thief.

“I can be patient,” Nori shrugged. “He’ll get over it eventually.”

Thorin wasn’t so sure, but he left it alone. He had other matters to discuss. “When we get to the mountain, would you be able to steal the Arkenstone?”

Nori stopped abruptly and stared at him. “I thought that was the hobbit’s job?”

“It is. But if he is no longer with us-”

Nori’s eyes flashed. “What are you planning to do?”

That was a surprise. He hadn’t realised Nori had grown so close to the hobbit. “I’m not planning anything,” he assured him, almost truthfully. “I’m just taking precautions.”

Nori still looked suspicious, but let it go. “The dragon knows dwarf,” he said, “knows our scent. It’ll be tougher without the hobbit but yes, I can do it.”

Thorin nodded. “Good.”

He made to move on but Nori caught his arm. “Thorin, he’s alright. He’s one of us. He won’t let us down.”

He released the thief’s grip on him, and started walking again without replying. That was not his concern. He was more worried about getting the hobbit there in one piece. He ignored Nori’s suspicious eyes boring into his back.

As they climbed higher, the High Pass through the Misty Mountains grew more treacherous, turning from soft grass to loose shingle. Even with Balin’s expertise, it was tough going. The path underneath them had an alarming habit of dropping away suddenly or narrowing until there was barely enough room for Bilbo to keep his footing, let alone the bulkier dwarves.

“We always knew this road was going to be difficult,” Balin reminded him. “Let’s just focus on this not being the moment where we lose three of the company, shall we?”

Once they were high into the mountains, they took to sleeping on the path where they could, rather than finding shelter. While the nights remained clear, there was no need to stray too far and risk a more dangerous road. It was far from comfortable, but he paid no attention to the soft grumbles that sprung up, particularly from the hobbit.

Thorin spent much of his time avoiding Bilbo. He was alarmed by how much he had allowed his own feelings to grow during their stay in Rivendell. This could not happen. He would not  _ let _ this happen. If he were indeed to die on this journey - which he still considered as the most likely outcome - the hobbit would be better off without the complications of feelings.  _ He _ would be better off without feelings too, he thought huffily, only he wasn’t sure how to change that except by sheer force of will. Occasionally he would catch himself wondering how the hobbit would respond to any romantic overtures. More frequently, particularly late at night, he found himself wondering how that beardless mouth would feel if he kissed it, how the hobbit would taste, whether he would allow him to explore the taste further down… He cursed his own weakness. He’d made a decision, damn it, and he was going to stick to it. He would have to put those imaginings aside and focus. He had a kingdom to recover, after all, and that wasn’t going to happen while he was pining over a burglar that he was still hoping to send back home.

As they journeyed higher into the mountains, the air grew thin and the weather unpredictable. At last, the heavens opened and they were caught in a terrible storm.

Thorin almost wondered whether he had offended the Valar as their luck turned from bad to worse. The path narrowed and crumbled under their feet until they were edging along the cliff edge sideways, inches away from a drop into the abyss before their feet.

Bilbo almost lost his footing several times, causing Thorin’s heart to jump into his mouth, but Dwalin hauled him back each time, keeping a firm hand on the top of the hobbit’s pack.

Thorin was really starting to hate this blasted path. If only there was another way over the mountains… but this was the quickest route and they didn’t have time for a longer one.

The rain was coming down in sheets, cloaking both the path before them and the mountain itself. Thorin hunched under the weight of his sodden furs and tried to push forward.

“Alright,” he called, “hold on!”

Almost as soon as he had said it, the hobbit slipped on the loose rocks once more and was only saved from the cliffedge by the collective efforts of Dwalin and Bofur.

“We must find shelter!” he shouted back to them all, swallowing down his feeling of relief.

“Look out!” Dwalin yelled. He looked up to see an enormous rock sailing towards them to crash on the rock above.

Thorin threw himself sideways into the rock face, trying to avoid the sudden hail of rock that flew towards them.

“This is no thunderstorm,” said Balin suddenly. “It’s a thunder battle!”

Peering through the curtain of rain at where Balin was pointing, Thorin could see the mountains coming to life and ripping each other apart.

“Well, bless me,” Bofur breathed, stepping forward for a better look. “The legends are true. Giants! Stone giants!”

He gazed in wonder as one threw a hunk of rock, knocking another back.

“Take cover, you fool!” Thorin bellowed as Bofur was pulled back just in time.

“Hold on!” He heard Dwalin yell as the mountain underneath them began to move and rocks rained down, shattering the path on which they stood.

The company was split apart. Thorin’s heart was in his mouth as he saw Fíli being carried away from him. They were on separate knees of a giant and he could do nothing as his nephew soared away, a look of panic etched on his face.

The giant began to stand up but was head butted back by another.

They held on desperately as the ledge they were on swept sideways and thudded hard into another cliff, this one unmoving.

Thorin saw their chance. “Go, go, go!” He shouted, plunging forward for solid ground.

But the rest of the company were still trapped as the giants battled it out. Thorin could only watch in fear as more rocks shattered above them and they went flying past, clinging to the rock for balance, never near enough to jump to safety.

“Come on,” he yelled, hefting his axe without thinking. It wasn’t as though he could personally destroy the giant who was robbing him of his nephew but it was something…

But there was nothing he could do. He watched helplessly as the rock carrying the group were driven into the cliff ahead of them.

“No!” He cried out as the cliff pulled and tumbled down the mountain. “No, Fíli!” He rushed forward, dreading what he might find - their crushed bodies, his nephew dead… heedless, he drove forward anyway. He needed to see, he needed to know… He pulled up short as he rounded the corner to find them all groaning and bruised, but whole and alive. Dwalin, Ori, Bofur and Bombur as well. He hadn’t even known who’d been with them, hadn’t stopped to take stock beyond his nephew.

He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward to help them up, his heart unclenching in his chest.

But it did not last long.

“Where’s Bilbo?” He heard Bofur ask in a panic and his blood turned to ice. In Mahal’s name, was there no end to what this accursed mountain would try to take from him?

“Where’s the hobbit?” Bofur asked again as they frantically looked around the group, trying to tally up.

“There!” Bofur cried and he turned. At first he could see nothing, but as Bofur dropped to his knees and reached forward, he saw a pair of hands frantically clutching at the cliff edge. He was barely holding on and a corner of Thorin’s mind wondered if his heart would survive all the strife he was putting it through today.

“Get him!” someone yelled and Ori lunged forward, just missing as Bilbo lost hold of his grip, slipping down to a lower ledge. Ori and Bofur were both reaching for him, yelling desperately for him to hold on, to grab their hands.

Thorin stood almost frozen with fear. This was exactly what he had dreaded. Was this the moment where he would lose a member of the company? Where he would lose Bilbo? Oh, Durin, no. Please, no. He could see the hobbit’s strength start to fail him and forced his limbs into motion. He swung over the edge and seized hold of Bilbo’s pack, heaving him up so the others’ grasping hands could pull him to safety. He barely noticed himself start to slip were it not for Dwalin yelling “No!” and seizing hold of his wrist to stop him from falling. The other dwarf grunted in exertion as he pulled him back.

“I thought we’d lost our burglar,” he panted, sitting back in relief as Thorin found his feet.

Thorin glanced over, ensuring the hobbit was once more safe. There had been far too many times recently that he could so easily have died. All because of his quest, because of  _ him _ . When he spoke, his voice was harsh with stress and self-recrimination. Good. If there was a moment to push the hobbit to go back home, this was it.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home,” he snarled. “He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

He turned away from the hurt look that came into Bilbo’s eyes. There. That should do it.  _ Please let him get home safely _ , he prayed silently.

“Dwalin,” he called, summoning his friend to examine a cave they could use for shelter.

“Bit harsh,” Dwalin muttered, as he stepped towards him.

“Needed to be done,” Thorin snapped, ignoring the pool of guilt settling into his stomach.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause I’m not. It looks safe enough,” Dwalin added as they entered the cave. Thorin winced at the exhaustion in his voice, but they could not rest yet. “Search to the back,” he ordered. “Caves in the mountain are seldom unoccupied.”

Dwalin nodded and lit a lantern, heading further into the cave as the others filed in.

“There’s nothing here,” he called after a moment.

“Right then,” Gloin said cheerfully. “Let’s get a fire started.”

“No, no fires,” Thorin said abruptly. “Not in this place. Get some sleep. We start at first light.”

There was a prickling in his spine, a tension that told him something was very wrong only he could not put his finger on it. If there had been something in the cave it would make sense but there was nothing. No reason that he could see for his concern. Normally he would just have had them move on but he could not push them any further tonight. Besides, if he was right and his cruel words were enough to send the hobbit home, he didn’t want to force him to travel further than he needed to.

“We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us,” Balin reminded him sternly. “That was the plan.”

“Plans change,” Thorin retorted. He didn’t know how to explain this feeling of unease to Balin. This paranoia.

Balin was staring at him with a mixture of alarm and concern, but Thorin ignored him. Let Balin think he’d gone mad for five minutes, he’d talk to him later. “Bofur,” he called now, “Take the first watch.”

Bofur didn’t look happy about it, but agreed. Good. He’d be less likely to stop the hobbit with an accusation of being a traitor if he did indeed leave tonight.

“Thorin,” Balin stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “We need to wait for Gandalf. You want to cross the mountains without him? You know what’s out there.”

“We have no time to wait for the wizard,” Thorin replied evasively.

“No time?” Balin repeated incredulously. “It’ll be a day at most. It would give us all time to rest, to plan.”

Thorin pulled Balin over to a secluded corner. “You’re right,” he told him. “And were we anywhere else, I would agree. But Balin, I do not like this place. Something is wrong. My every instinct is screaming for us to move on but…” he trailed off.

“But moving on means going out into the giants’ battle again,” Balin finished for him with a look of realisation. “Are you sure your instinct’s right? Not just the mountains themselves? Or left over from the elves?”

Thorin shook his head. “No, it’s definitely here. There’s something about this place, but I don’t know what.”

“I trust you, lad,” Balin assured him. “We can find somewhere else-”

“No,” Thorin interrupted. “They’re exhausted,” he cast an eye over the company. “We move on, someone’s going to make a mistake. We’ve had one close call already. I do not want this to be the place where we lose some of the company.”

“Like we almost lost Bilbo.” Balin gave Thorin a narrow look. “Go apologise to him.”

“No,” Thorin said shortly.

“He’s going to leave if you don’t,” Balin warned him, then froze. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You  _ want _ him to leave. Mahal, Thorin, will you just talk to him before you get hurt over this?”

“No,” Thorin repeated stubbornly.

Balin glared at him. “Just what do you imagine you’d be risking by apologising to him? At least send him home thinking the best of us rather than the worst.”

Thorin was about to reject this offhand as well but he hesitated. He may be avoiding his own draw towards the hobbit but the prospect of leaving him with the permanent view that Thorin hated him hurt more than he liked to consider.

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” he admitted at last.

“How would explaining yourself lead to that?” Balin pointed out reasonable.

“Three of us are doomed to die,” Thorin snapped. “If he’s away from us, he’s safe. How do you want me to explain that to him?”

“Has it occurred to you that trying to travel home alone might be what kills him?”

Thorin glared at Balin. “What would you have me do?”

“I’m not telling you what to do one way or the other,” Balin told him flatly. “I’m saying maybe he’ll be safer where we can protect him, and I’m saying that maybe you should be discussing it with him rather than me.”

Thorin grunted and turned away but something about Balin’s words stuck with him. Did he really want to send his One away, possibly to his death, thinking the worst of him? The idea of that hurt more than he thought it would. It lingered somewhere in his chest, festering.

It was not until later when he looked over to see the hobbit securing his little pack that he found the courage to talk to him.

Most of the others were asleep or well on their way to it, excepting Bofur on watch, so no one was there to witness him slipping over to the hobbit’s side.

“Going somewhere?” he asked quietly.

Bilbo jumped violently at the unexpected interruption and the sight of the dwarven King looming over him.

“What? No, not at all, of course not,” he floundered.

Thorin’s heart gave a little twinge at the look of guilty alarm on the other’s face.

“Because I would understand,” he said gruffly. “If you were planning to leave us. Nevermind the contract.”

Bilbo clearly misunderstood his intentions because his face twisted. “I am aware that leaving would be breaking the contract that I signed,” he said sharply. “Under normal circumstances, I would like to think that I’m a hobbit of my word. But you said it yourself, I have no place amongst you. I don’t belong here. You were right.”

Thorin sat beside him. “I stand by that,” he said, then cursed himself as he felt the hobbit flinch minutely. “Not that you have no place among us. You are one of the company. But that you don’t belong here. You have a home. We, of all people, know how precious a thing that is. To wish to return to it, to be safe in it is not shameful. After all, we are attempting the same thing.”

Bilbo sat silently next to him.

“What was Erebor like?” he asked at last.

Thorin glanced at him in surprise. “It was beautiful,” he told him. “I am sorry that you will never see it. But it is no longer your concern. You are right to leave. This road is perilous enough for those capable of defending themselves, but I fear the journey would be deadly for you.”

Bilbo frowned. “I am not worried about the danger to myself,” he said quietly, not seeing Thorin’s sharp look, his gaze unseeingly fixed on somewhere in the distance. “I do not wish to be a burden to the company.”

Thorin was about to deny this, but his gaze caught on the small sword that the hobbit carried on his belt. It was glowing blue. Goblins.

“Wake up! All of you!” he bellowed. He yanked Bilbo to his feet and shoved him towards the cave entrance. “Go Bilbo. Go now!”

That was all he managed to say before the floor gave way and he tumbled down into the pit below them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while... sorry about that. Lockdown's kinda like the ring. Or a horcrux. Makes every bad thought worse. Wasn't sure if I was going to continue this or delete it for a while, but my brain and I reached a compromise and the result is that we are now stepping off the canon train.
> 
> At any rate, enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Inùdoy - son  
> Nidoy - boy
> 
> Title from "Bilbo's Last Song" by Tolkien. It felt appropriate.


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